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Love lieth deep Love dwells not in lip-depths Love laps his wings on either side the heart Absorbing all the incense of sweet thoughts, So that they pass not to the shrine of sound.
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
Deep
Absorbing
Side
Depths
Either
Depth
Laps
Sides
Lips
Shrine
Sound
Wings
Shrines
Heart
Pass
Incense
Love
Sweet
Dwells
Thoughts
Lap
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let they voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
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All Life needs for life is possible to will.
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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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Speak to Him, thou, for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet- Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.
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Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.
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I do but sing because I must and pipe but as the linnets sing.
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The woman is so hard Upon the woman.
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Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers Unfaith is aught is want of faith in all.
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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.
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The city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built forever.
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Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.
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That man's the best cosmopolite Who loves his native country best.
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I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul
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Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.
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Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.
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After-dinner talk Across the walnuts and the wine.
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God and Nature met in light.
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Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast, Or sorrow such a changeling be?
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Once in a golden hour, I cast to earth a seed, And up there grew a flower, That others called a weed.
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Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death.
Alfred Lord Tennyson