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And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea, But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.
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
Fighting
Fifty
Moment
Sea
Moments
Summer
Three
Sun
Never
Fight
Went
Came
Stars
Ceased
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Sin is too stupid to see beyond itself.
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She has a lovely face God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.
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Name and fame! to fly sublime Through the courts, the camps, the schools Is to be the ball of Time, Bandied in the hands of fools.
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All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
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I found Him in the shining of the stars.
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Tho' much is taken, much abides.
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Woman is the lesser man.
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And others' follies teach us not, Nor much their wisdom teaches, And most, of sterling worth, is what Our own experience preaches.
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Better not be at all than not be noble.
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Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.
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In the long years liker they must grow The man be more of woman, she of man.
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Ah, Christ, that it were possible, For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.
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The folly of all follies is to be love sick for a shadow.
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Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death.
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O hark,O hear! how thin and clear And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
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Mastering the lawless science of our law,- that codeless myriad of precedent, that wilderness of single instances.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The words 'far, far away' had always a strange charm.
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Oh yet we trust that somehow good will be the final goal of ill!
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Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
