Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.
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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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Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.
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He that wrongs his friend, wrongs himself more.
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Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand the downward slope to death.
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Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.
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I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
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The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher The skies stoop down in their desire; And, isled in sudden seas of light, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight.
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Gone - flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.
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Arise, go forth, and conquer as of old.
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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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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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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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Many a night I saw the Pleiads, Rising thro' the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies, Tangled in a silver braid.
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Trust me not at all, or all in all.
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The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
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Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite Beyond it, blooms the garden that I love. News from the humming city comes to it It sound of funeral or of marriage bells.
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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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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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So dear a life your arms enfold, Whose crying is a cry for gold.
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We love but while we may; And therefore is my love so large for thee, Seeing it is not bounded save by love.
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Either sex alone is half itself.
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Sweet is every sound, sweeter the voice, but every sound is sweet.
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And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.