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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
Thousand
Serene
Land
Reverence
Peace
Closed
Life
Sadness
Claims
Court
Gave
Reposed
Pure
Sad
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
All is well, tho' faith and form Be sunder'd in the night of fear.
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This barren verbiage, current among men, Light coin, the tinsel clink of compliment.
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A louse in the locks of literature.
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I loved you, and my love had no return, And therefore my true love has been my death.
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Ours is not to wonder why. Ours is just to do or die.
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I am on fire within. There comes no murmur of reply. What is it that will take away my sin, And save me lest I die?
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The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me.
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The Lord let the house of a brute to the soul of a man, And the man said, Am I your debtor? And the Lord--Not yet: but make it as clean as you can, And then I will let you a better.
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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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That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.
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The woman's cause is man's: they rise or sink Together.
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O mighty-mouthed inventor of harmonies, O skilled to sing of Time or Eternity, God-gifted organ-voice of England, Milton, a name to resound for ages.
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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
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
Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built forever.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Ah! well away! Seasons flower and fade.
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Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
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.
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She has a lovely face God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
