Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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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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And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds.
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Thou madest man, he knows not why, he thinks he was not made to die.
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Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last-far off-at last, to all, And every winter change to spring.
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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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Here at the quiet limit of the world.
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The mighty hopes that make us men.
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The passionate heart of the poet is whirled into folly and vice.
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I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul.
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The year is dying in the night.
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Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
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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.
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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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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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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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A doubtful throne is ice on summer seas.
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Earth is dry to the centre, But spring, a new comer, A spring rich and strange, Shall make the winds blow Round and round, Thro' and thro', Here and there, Till the air And the ground Shall be fill'd with life anew.
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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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Man is man, and master of his fate.
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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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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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I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
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I came in haste with cursing breath, And heart of hardest steel; But when I saw thee cold in death, I felt as man should feel. For when I look upon that face, That cold, unheeding, frigid brown, Where neither rage nor fear has place, By Heaven! I cannot hate thee now!
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Love is hurt with jar and fret; Love is made a vague regret.