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And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.
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
Meant
Common
Wells
Well
Chaff
Vacant
Commonplace
Grain
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.
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For always roaming with a hungry heart.
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Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
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the shell must break before the bird can fly.
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I cannot rest from travel I will drink Life to the lees.
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There's no glory like those who save their country.
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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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Sweet is every sound, sweeter the voice, but every sound is sweet.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Silence, beautiful voice.
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The same words conceal and declare the thoughts of men.
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Forgive my grief for one removed Thy creature whom I found so fair I trust he lives in Thee and there I find him worthier to be loved.
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A louse in the locks of literature.
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A lie that is half-truth is the darkest of all lies.
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Every man at time of Death, Would fain set forth some saying that may live After his death and better humankind For death gives life's last word a power to live, And, lie the stone-cut epitaph, remain After the vanished voice, and speak to men.
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Forgive! How many will say, forgive, and find a sort of absolution in the sound to hate a little longer!
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Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing: Toll ye the church bell sad and slow, And tread softly and speak low, For the old year lies a-dying. Old year you must not die You came to us so readily, You lived with us so steadily, Old year you shall not die.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Love's too precious to be lost, A little grain shall not be spilt.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson