Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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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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Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be… And thou, O Lord, art more than they.
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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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Here at the quiet limit of the world.
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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 year is dying in the night.
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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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I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul.
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He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.
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A doubtful throne is ice on summer seas.
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I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
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And what delights can equal those That stir the spirit's inner deeps, When one that loves but knows not, reaps A truth from one that loves and knows?
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You may tell me that my hand and foot are only imaginary symbols of my existence. I could believe you, but you never, never can convince me that the I is not an eternal reality, and that the spiritual is not the true and real part of me.
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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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The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn.
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Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.
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I am any man's suitor, If any will be my tutor: Some say this life is pleasant, Some think it speedeth fast, In time there is no present, In eternity no future, In eternity no past. We laugh, we cry, we are born, we die. Who will riddle me the how and the why?
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A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips.
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Is there evil but on earth? Or pain in every peopled sphere? Well, be grateful for the sounding watchword "Evolution" here.
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Love is hurt with jar and fret; Love is made a vague regret.
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Arise, go forth, and conquer as of old.
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Man is man, and master of his fate.
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The mighty hopes that make us men.
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And every winter change to spring.She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.