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There twice a day the Severn fills The salt sea-water passes by, And hushes half the babbling Wye, And makes a silence in the hills.
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
Silence
Half
Babbling
Water
Fills
Makes
Passes
Salt
Twice
Hills
Sea
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He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.
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the shell must break before the bird can fly.
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The same words conceal and declare the thoughts of men.
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We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.
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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.
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Not once or twice in our rough island story, The path of duty was the way to glory.
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Bible reading is an education in itself.
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The golden guess is morning-star to the full round of truth.
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Do we indeed desire the dead Should still be near us at our side ? Is there no baseness we would hide ? No inner vileness that we dread ? How many a father have I seen A sober man, among his boys Whose youth was full of foolish noise.
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Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.
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Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool.
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The noonday quiet holds the hill.
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The bearing and the training of a child Is woman's wisdom.
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In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
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Blind and naked ignorance delivers brawling judgments, unashamed, on all things all day long
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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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Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.
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Sweet is every sound, sweeter the voice, but every sound is sweet.
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What the sunshine is to the flower, the Lord Jesus Christ is to my soul.
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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.
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