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Tis not your work, but Love's. Love, unperceived, A more ideal Artist he than all, Came, drew your pencil from you, made those eyes Darker than the darkest pansies, and that hair More black than ashbuds in the front of March.
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
Love
Hair
Darkest
Came
Drew
Eyes
Pencils
Eye
March
Black
Ideal
Unperceived
Artist
Ideals
Pansies
Work
Fronts
Darker
Made
Front
Pencil
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Theirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The world which credits what is done is cold to all that might have been.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
My purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the Western stars until I die.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
We needs must love the highest when we see it.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Cast all your cares on God that anchor holds.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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.
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
Better not be at all than not be noble.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The quiet sense of something lost
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Gorgonised me from head to foot With a stony British stare.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
...and our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Oh good gray head which all men knew!
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Science grows and Beauty dwindles.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
His honour rooted in dishonour stood, And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
O Love! they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying! And answer, echoes, answer! dying, dying, dying.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law Though Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shrieked against his creed.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
That loss is common would not make My own less bitter, rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening, but some heart did break.
Alfred Lord Tennyson