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Her court was pure, her life serene God gave her peace her land reposed A thousand claims to reverence closed.
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
Pure
Sad
Thousand
Serene
Land
Reverence
Peace
Closed
Life
Sadness
Claims
Court
Gave
Reposed
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
For always roaming with a hungry heart.
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O last regret, regret can die!
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Forgive my grief for one removed Thy creature whom I found so fair I trust he lives in Thee and there I find him worthier to be loved.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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
We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother's shame however you take it we men are a little breed.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him and tho' he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
She has a lovely face God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I can't sleep without knowing there's hope. Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze I sorrow. For the hands, for the lips... the eyes. For the meeting of tomorrow.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light, The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, Drops in a silent autumn night. All its allotted length of days The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Any man that walks the mead In bud, or blade, or bloom, may find, According as his humors lead, A meaning suited to his mind.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Nor at all can tell Whether I mean this day to end myself, Or lend an ear to Plato where he says, That men like soldiers may not quit the post Allotted by the Gods.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
On all things created remaineth the half-effaced signature of God, Somewhat of fair and good, though blotted by the finger of corruption.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
So dear a life your arms enfold, Whose crying is a cry for gold.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
A pasty costly-made, Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret lay, Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks Imbedded and injellied.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I thought I could not breathe in that fine air That pure severity of perfect light I yearned for warmth and colour which I found In Lancelot.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
