Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan.
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The shell must break before the bird can fly.
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Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was love.
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For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.
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Life is not as idle ore, But iron dug from central gloom, And heated hot with burning fears, And dipt in baths of hissing tears, And batter'd with the shocks of doom, To shape and use.
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So now I have sworn to bury All this dead body of hate I feel so free and so clear By the loss of that dead weight.
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I have led her home, my love, my only friend. There is none like her, none, And never yet so warmly ran my blood, And sweetly, on and on Calming itself to the long-wished for end, Full to the banks, close on the prom- ised good.
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The woman is so hard Upon the woman.
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Science grows and Beauty dwindles.
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She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthly bed; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.
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That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.
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The world which credits what is done is cold to all that might have been.
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Ah, when shall all men's good Be each man's rule, and universal peace Lie like a shaft of light across the land, And like a lane of beams athwart the sea, Thro' all the circle of the golden year?
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No rock so hard but that a little wave may beat admission in a thousand years.
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God gives us love! Something to love He lends us; but when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve Falls off, and love is left alone: This is the curse of time.
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The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
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Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let they voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
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That man's the true Conservative who lops the moldered branch away.
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If Nature put not forth her power About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour?
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All experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever as we move.
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Tis a morning pure and sweet, And a dewy splendour falls On the little flower that clings To the turrets and the walls; 'Tis a morning pure and sweet, And the light and shadow fleet; She is walking in the meadow, And the woodland echo rings; In a moment we shall meet; She is singing in the meadow, And the rivulet at her feet Ripples on in light and shadow To the ballad that she sings.
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I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone.
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She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.
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It's better to have tried and failed than to live life wondering what would've happened if I had tried.