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I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
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
Sparkle
Valley
Valleys
Sudden
Bicker
Streams
Fern
Among
Ferns
Come
Sally
Make
Haunts
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.
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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Follow the deer? Follow the Christ the King. Live pure, speak true,right wrong, Follow the King-- Else, wherefore born?
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The woman's cause is man's. They rise or sink Together. / Dwarf'd or godlike, bound or free miserable, / How shall men grow? - Let her be / All that not harms distinctive womanhood.
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Love is hurt with jar and fret Love is made a vague regret.
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Life is brief but love is LONG .
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All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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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Men at most differ as Heaven and Earth, but women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell.
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By blood a king, in heart a clown.
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Nature, red in tooth and claw.
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I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.
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A simple maiden in her flower, Is worth a hundred coats of arms.
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I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
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Better not be at all than not be noble.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The old order changes yielding place to new.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
My doom is, I love thee still. Let no man dream but that I love thee still.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
