Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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If I make dark my countenance, I shut my life from happier chance.
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As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated with a clown, As the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.
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Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
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And blessings on the falling out That all the more endears, When we fall out with those we love And kiss again with tears!
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There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass.
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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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Faith lives in honest doubt.
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There is always change, bad customs pass and give way to better ones.
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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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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.
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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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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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Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.
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And on her lover's arm she leant, And round her waist she felt it fold, And far across the hills they went In that new world which is the old.
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There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.
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The year is dying in the night.
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How fares it with the happy dead?
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The bearing and the training of a child Is woman's wisdom.
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Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depths of some devine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
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Come not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry; But thou, go by. Child, if it were thine error or thy crime I care no longer, being all unblest; Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time, And I desire to rest. Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie: Go by, go by.
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Red of the Dawn Is it turning a fainter red? so be it, but when shall we lay The ghost of the Brute that is walking and hammering us yet and be free?
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If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever.
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Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death.
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Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls.