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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
Never
Fight
Went
Came
Stars
Ceased
Fighting
Fifty
Moment
Sea
Moments
Summer
Three
Sun
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All is well, tho' faith and form Be sunder'd in the night of fear.
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I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
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In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold
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And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan.
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The golden guess is morning-star to the full round of truth.
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Attain the unattainable.
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A simple maiden in her flower, Is worth a hundred coats of arms.
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No man ever got very high by pulling other people down. The intelligent merchant does not knock his competitors. The sensible worker does not work those who work with him. Don't knock your friends. Don't knock your enemies. Don't knock yourself.
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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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She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide The mirror crack'd from side to side The curse is come upon me, cried The Lady of Shalott.
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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?
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Sweet were the days when I was all unknown, But when my name was lifted up, the storm Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it. Right well know I that fame is half disfame.
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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 woman is so hard Upon the woman.
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Love's too precious to be lost, A little grain shall not be spilt.
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Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand Ring out the darkness of the land Ring in the Christ that is to be.
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Manners are not idle, but the fruit of loyal and of noble mind.
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Arise, go forth, and conquer as of old.
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