Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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The last great Englishman is low.
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The passionate heart of the poet is whirled into folly and vice.
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She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott.
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In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
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It is the little rift within the lute That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.
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I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
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And wheresoe'er thou move, good luck Shall fling her old shoe after.
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For love reflects the thing beloved.
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Thou madest man, he knows not why, he thinks he was not made to die.
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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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Do we indeed desire the dead Should still be near us at our side ? Is there no baseness we would hide ? No inner vileness that we dread ? How many a father have I seen A sober man, among his boys Whose youth was full of foolish noise.
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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, Time, and teach me many years, I do not suffer in dream; For now so strange do these things seem, Mine eyes have leisure for their tears.
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Nothing in Nature is unbeautiful.
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The mighty hopes that make us men.
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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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Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
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All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
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You, methinks you think you love me well; For me, I love you somewhat; rest: and Love Should have some rest and pleasure in himself, Not ever be too curious for a boon, Too prurient for a proof against the grain Of him ye say ye love: but Fame with men, Being but ampler means to serve mankind, Should have small rest or pleasure in herself, But work as vassal to the larger love, That dwarfs the petty love of one to one.
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Love will conquer at the last.
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Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades Forever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life!
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I will love thee to the death, And out beyond into the dream to come.
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Oh for someone with a heart, head and hand. Whatever they call them, what do I care, aristocrat, democrat, autocrat, just be it one that can rule and dare not lie.
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We needs must love the highest when we see it.