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The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn.
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
Alone
Comes
Death
Night
Morn
Live
Forlorn
Love
Cease
Forgotten
Shall
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?
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The long mechanic pacings to and fro, The set, gray life, and apathetic end.
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Hope Smiles from the threshold of the year to come, Whispering 'it will be happier'.
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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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Nor is it wiser to weep a true occasion lost, but trim our sails, and let old bygones be.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot But Lancelot mused a little space He said, She has a lovely face God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.
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Red of the Dawn Is it turning a fainter red? so be it, but when shall we lay The ghost of the Brute that is walking and hammering us yet and be free?
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I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
All things human change.
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The world which credits what is done is cold to all that might have been.
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I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.
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Love's too precious to be lost, A little grain shall not be spilt.
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She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room
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Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again
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The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
He that wrongs his friend, wrongs himself more.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin, After it, follow it, FollowThe Gleam.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
He is all fault who has no fault at all.
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We are self-uncertain creatures, and we may Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites And private hates with our defence of Heaven.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
