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And blessings on the falling out That all the more endears, When we fall out with those we love And kiss again with tears!
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
Blessings
Kiss
Falling
Kissing
Blessing
Tears
Fall
Love
Endears
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
For now the poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry.
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Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.
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And ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be!
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That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.
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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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Faith lives in honest doubt.
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I can't sleep without knowing there's hope. Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze I sorrow. For the hands, for the lips... the eyes. For the meeting of tomorrow.
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The greater person is one of courtesy.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.
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And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.
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Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin, After it, follow it, FollowThe Gleam.
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Our wills are ours, we know not how Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
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Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.
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Too much wit makes the world rotten.
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It is hard to wive and thrive both in a year.
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O last regret, regret can die!
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Ah, when shall all men's good Be each man's rule, and universal peace Lie like a shaft of light across the land, And like a lane of beams athwart the sea, Thro' all the circle of the golden year?
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Here at the quiet limit of the world.
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She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room
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He is all fault who has no fault at all.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
