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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
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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
Valley
Valleys
League
Six
Hundred
Half
Death
Rode
Onward
More quotes by 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.
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Courtesy wins woman all as well. As valor may, but he that closes both is perfect.
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We love but while we may And therefore is my love so large for thee, Seeing it is not bounded save by love.
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Earth is dry to the centre, But spring, a new comer, A spring rich and strange, Shall make the winds blow Round and round, Thro' and thro', Here and there, Till the air And the ground Shall be fill'd with life anew.
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Shall the hag Evil die with the child of Good, Or propagate again her loathèd kind, Thronging the cells of the diseased mind, Hateful with hanging cheeks, a withered brood, Though hourly pastured on the salient blood?
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More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.
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The city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built forever.
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The passionate heart of the poet is whirled into folly and vice.
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The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
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Wearing all that weight Of learning lightly like a flower.
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I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
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All experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move.
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This round of green, this orb of flame, Fantastic beauty such as lurks In some wild poet, when he works Without a conscience or an aim.
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She is coming, my own, my sweet Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthly bed My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.
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Though much is taken, much abides and though We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
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He that wrongs a friend Wrongs himself more, and ever bears about A silent court of justice in his breast, Himself the judge and jury, and himself The prisoner at the bar ever condemned.
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A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips.
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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.
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I cannot rest from travel I will drink Life to the lees.
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Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again.
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