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Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool.
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
Sound
Night
Inmost
Come
Wool
Like
Footsteps
Hills
Sounds
Dead
Upon
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Virtue must shape itself in deed.
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Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.
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I am on fire within. There comes no murmur of reply. What is it that will take away my sin, And save me lest I die?
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A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
We love but while we may And therefore is my love so large for thee, Seeing it is not bounded save by love.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing a youth sublime With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time.
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Of love that never found his earthly close, What sequel? Streaming eyes and breaking hearts Or all the same as if he had not been?
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Nature, red in tooth and claw.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The folly of all follies is to be love sick for a shadow.
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A smile abroad is often a scowl at home.
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Blind and naked ignorance delivers brawling judgments, unashamed, on all things all day long
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I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
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Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.
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I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone.
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Life is not as idle ore, But iron dug from central gloom, And heated hot with burning fears, And dipt in baths of hissing tears, And batter'd with the shocks of doom, To shape and use.
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Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.
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A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies.
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'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
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We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I came in haste with cursing breath, And heart of hardest steel But when I saw thee cold in death, I felt as man should feel. For when I look upon that face, That cold, unheeding, frigid brown, Where neither rage nor fear has place, By Heaven! I cannot hate thee now!
Alfred Lord Tennyson
