Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.
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Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool.
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O love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul through My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.
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Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell; That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, But vaster.
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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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And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!
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Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing: Toll ye the church bell sad and slow, And tread softly and speak low, For the old year lies a-dying. Old year you must not die; You came to us so readily, You lived with us so steadily, Old year you shall not die.
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And every dew-drop paints a bow.
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For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.
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Ring out the false, ring in the true.
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From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.
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Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed.
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Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower-but if I could understand What you are, root and all, all in all, I should know what God and man is.
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Better not be at all than not be noble.
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Faith is believing what we cannot prove.
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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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Too much wit makes the world rotten.
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Never, oh! never, nothing will die; The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die.
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O Love! what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine; In lands of palm, of orange – blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!
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What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.
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Jewels five-words-long, That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle forever.
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That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.
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To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
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For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.