Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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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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Willows whiten, aspens quiver, little breezes dusk and shiver, thro' the wave that runs forever by the island in the river, flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls and four gray towers, overlook a space of flowers, and the silent isle imbowers, the Lady of Shalott.
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Love is hurt with jar and fret; Love is made a vague regret.
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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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He that wrongs his friend, wrongs himself more.
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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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Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand the downward slope to death.
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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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Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.
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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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In time there is no present, In eternity no future, In eternity no past.
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He is all fault who has no fault at all.
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Man is man, and master of his fate.
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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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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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Of old sat Freedom on the heights The thunders breaking at her feet: Above her shook the starry lights; She heard the torrents meet.
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Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.
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Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to point. ... Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns. ... Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.
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Short swallow-flights of song, that dip Their wings in tears, and skim away.
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As she fled fast through sun and shade The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid.
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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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Silence, beautiful voice.
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So dear a life your arms enfold, Whose crying is a cry for gold.