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I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.
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
Born
Rage
Never
Envy
Mood
Captive
Woods
Captives
Noble
Moods
Summer
Cage
Knew
Cages
Within
Void
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I cannot rest from travel I will drink Life to the lees.
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Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.
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Ours is not to wonder why. Ours is just to do or die.
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The long day wanes the slow moon climbs the deep.
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All Life needs for life is possible to will.
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Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed.
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Here at the quiet limit of the world.
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Mastering the lawless science of our law,- that codeless myriad of precedent, that wilderness of single instances.
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That which we are, we are.
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A smile abroad is often a scowl at home.
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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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A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair.
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The noonday quiet holds the hill.
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From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.
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And wheresoe'er thou move, good luck Shall fling her old shoe after.
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So I find every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber, and the street, For all is dark where thou art not
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The parting of a husband and wife is like the cleaving of a heart one half will flutter here, one there.
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O mighty-mouthed inventor of harmonies, O skilled to sing of Time or Eternity, God-gifted organ-voice of England, Milton, a name to resound for ages.
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Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.
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Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.
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