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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
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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
Death
Lows
Place
Ears
Warble
Soul
Sorrow
Hymn
Firsts
Waste
Swan
First
Took
Swans
Joy
Hymns
Full
Hidden
Clear
Wild
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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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Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die.
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The long day wanes the slow moon climbs the deep.
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Who is wise in love, love most, say least.
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Authority forgets a dying king.
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The city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built forever.
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My purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the Western stars until I die.
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There she weaves by night and day, A magic web with colors gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay, To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.
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Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.
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Behold, we know not anything I can but trust that good shall fall At last-far off-at last, to all, And every winter change to spring.
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The words 'far, far away' had always a strange charm.
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And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.
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I sometimes find it half a sin, To put to words the grief i feel, For words like nature,half reveal, and half conceal the soul within.
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Name and fame! to fly sublime Through the courts, the camps, the schools Is to be the ball of Time, Bandied in the hands of fools.
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That which we are, we are, and if we are ever to be any better, now is the time to begin.
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Arise, go forth, and conquer as of old.
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Many a night I saw the Pleiads, Rising thro' the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies, Tangled in a silver braid.
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Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to towered Camelot.
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Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea.
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Love will conquer at the last.
Alfred Lord Tennyson