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I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of pence, Which vexes public men.

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
Grow
Vex
Grows
Pence
Public
Critic
Sense
Pens
Men
Wit
Critics
Eternal
Worth

More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson

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Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell when I embark.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea, But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Short swallow-flights of song, that dip Their wings in tears, and skim away.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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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
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Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Arise, go forth, and conquer as of old.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher The skies stoop down in their desire And, isled in sudden seas of light, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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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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After-dinner talk Across the walnuts and the wine.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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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
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The mighty hopes that make us men.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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What! I should call on that Infinite Love that has served us so well? Infinite cruelty rather, that made everlasting hell, Made us, foreknew us, foredoom'd us, and does what he will with his own Better our dead brute mother who never has heard us groan.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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He makes no friend who never made a foe.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Where love could walk with banish'd Hope no more.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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From yon blue heavens above us bent The gardener Adam and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens? If all the world were falcons, what of that? The wonder of the eagle were the less, But he not less the eagle.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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I will love thee to the death, And out beyond into the dream to come.
Alfred Lord Tennyson