Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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The still affection of the heart Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again, And left a want unknown before; Although the loss had brought us pain, That loss but made us love the more.
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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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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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This round of green, this orb of flame, Fantastic beauty; such as lurks In some wild poet, when he works Without a conscience or an aim.
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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.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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I found Him in the shining of the stars.
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Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.
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Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.
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Tis not your work, but Love's. Love, unperceived, A more ideal Artist he than all, Came, drew your pencil from you, made those eyes Darker than the darkest pansies, and that hair More black than ashbuds in the front of March.
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He is all fault who has no fault at all.
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Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again.
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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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Attain the unattainable.
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And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.
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I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
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So dear a life your arms enfold, Whose crying is a cry for gold.
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The mighty hopes that make us men.
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And others' follies teach us not, Nor much their wisdom teaches, And most, of sterling worth, is what Our own experience preaches.
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Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.
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In time there is no present, In eternity no future, In eternity no past.
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Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand the downward slope to death.
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A simple maiden in her flower, Is worth a hundred coats of arms.
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Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.
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And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech.