Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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The sin That neither God nor man can well forgive.
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And was the day of my delight As pure and perfect as I say?
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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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Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.
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There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass.
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Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.
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Like glimpses of forgotten dreams.
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Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
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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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All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon; All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd To the dancers dancing in tune; Till a silence fell with the waking bird, And a hush with the setting moon.
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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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Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.
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Nothing in Nature is unbeautiful.
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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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Nature, so far as in her lies, imitates God.
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Any man that walks the mead In bud, or blade, or bloom, may find, According as his humors lead, A meaning suited to his mind.
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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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Love will conquer at the last.
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For love reflects the thing beloved.
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My life has crept so long on a broken wing Through cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing.
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The long mechanic pacings to and fro, The set, gray life, and apathetic end.
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That man's the best cosmopolite Who loves his native country best.
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Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law Though Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shrieked against his creed.
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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.