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For every worm beneath the moon Draws different threads, and late and soon Spins, toiling out his own cocoon.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Alfred Lord Tennyson
Age: 83 †
Born: 1809
Born: August 6
Died: 1892
Died: October 6
Poet
Politician
Writer
Somersby
Lincolnshire
Alfred Tennyson
1st Baron Tennyson
Lord Alfred Tennyson
Alcibiades
A. Tennyson
Alfred Tennyson
Baron Tennyson
Alfred Tennyson Tennyson
Tennyson
1st Baron Tennyson of Aldworth and Freshwater Alfred Tennyson
Alfred Tennyson d'Eyncourt
Lord Tennyson Alfred
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Alfred
Lord Tennyson
Soon
Toiling
Moon
Cocoons
Late
Threads
Different
Worm
Every
Worms
Thread
Beneath
Spins
Draws
Cocoon
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up, And is lightly laid again.
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Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.
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Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
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Speak to Him, thou, for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet- Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.
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That man's the true Conservative who lops the moldered branch away.
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A beam in darkness: let it grow.
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Evolution ever climbing after some ideal good, And Reversion ever dragging Evolution in the mud.
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Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.
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Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
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My doom is, I love thee still. Let no man dream but that I love thee still.
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Nature, red in tooth and claw.
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I found Him in the shining of the stars.
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Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.
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Gorgonised me from head to foot With a stony British stare.
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Men may come and men may go but I go on forever.
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To me He is all fault who hath no fault at all: For who loves me must have a touch of earth.
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My life has crept so long on a broken wing Through cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing.
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The passionate heart of the poet is whirled into folly and vice.
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We needs must love the highest when we see it.
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But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
