Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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The words 'far, far away' had always a strange charm.
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Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him; and tho' he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.
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And was the day of my delight As pure and perfect as I say?
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Ring out the grief that saps the mind, for those that were here we see no more.
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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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Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens? If all the world were falcons, what of that? The wonder of the eagle were the less, But he not less the eagle.
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The sin That neither God nor man can well forgive.
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France had shown a light to all men, preached a Gospel, all men's good; Celtic Demos rose a Demon, shriek'd and slaked the light with blood.
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But for the unquiet heart and brain A use in measured language lies; The sad mechanic exercise Like dull narcotics numbing pain.
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I will love thee to the death, And out beyond into the dream to come.
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Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.
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And wheresoe'er thou move, good luck Shall fling her old shoe after.
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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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Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.
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This barren verbiage, current among men, Light coin, the tinsel clink of compliment.
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Nothing in Nature is unbeautiful.
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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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Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone: And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown. For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky.
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Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new, That which they have done but earnest of the things which they shall do.
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God and Nature met in light.
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Bible reading is an education in itself.
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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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The passionate heart of the poet is whirled into folly and vice.
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Of love that never found his earthly close, What sequel? Streaming eyes and breaking hearts; Or all the same as if he had not been?