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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
Twice
Hills
Sea
Silence
Half
Babbling
Water
Fills
Makes
Passes
Salt

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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.
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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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But every page having an ample marge, And every marge enclosing in the midst A square of text that looks a little blot.
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Cast all your cares on God that anchor holds.
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Sweet were the days when I was all unknown, But when my name was lifted up, the storm Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it. Right well know I that fame is half disfame.
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Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May.
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Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.
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Our wills are ours, we know not how Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
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Gorgonised me from head to foot With a stony British stare.
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Ring out the false, ring in the true.
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A smile abroad is often a scowl at home.
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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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I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair.
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And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
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Bible reading is an education in itself.
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Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades Forever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life!
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If Nature put not forth her power About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour?
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