Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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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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The white flower of a blameless life.
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And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons, when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet.
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Live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurled Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world.
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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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Jewels five-words-long, That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle forever.
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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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The many fail: the one succeeds.
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But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.
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Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder'd string? I am shamed through all my nature to have lov'd so slight a thing.
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Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail Against her beauty? May she mix With men and prosper! Who shall fix Her pillars? Let her work prevail.
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Be near me when my light is low... And all the wheels of being slow.
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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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He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ringed with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.
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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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A truth looks freshest in the fashions of the day.
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To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
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A louse in the locks of literature.
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The shell must break before the bird can fly.
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That loss is common would not make My own less bitter, rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening, but some heart did break.
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Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.
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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.
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Nature, red in tooth and claw.