Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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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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But every page having an ample marge, And every marge enclosing in the midst A square of text that looks a little blot.
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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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O Love! they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying! And answer, echoes, answer! dying, dying, dying.
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To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
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Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.
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Jewels five-words-long, That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle forever.
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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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Faith is believing what we cannot prove.
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And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea, But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.
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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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Shall love be blamed for want of faith?
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Nature, red in tooth and claw.
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The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me.
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It was my duty to have loved the highest; It surely was my profit had I known: It would have been my pleasure had I seen. We needs must love the highest when we see it, Not Lancelot, nor another.
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A louse in the locks of literature.
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A beam in darkness: let it grow.
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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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Love's arms were wreathed about the neck of Hope, And Hope kiss'd Love, and Love drew in her breath In that close kiss and drank her whisper'd tales. They said that Love would die when Hope was gone. And Love mourn'd long, and sorrow'd after Hope; At last she sought out Memory, and they trod The same old paths where Love had walked with Hope, And Memory fed the soul of Love with tears.
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A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, With scraps of thundrous Epic lilted out By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long, That on the stretched forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever.
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But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
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For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.
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Be near me when my light is low... And all the wheels of being slow.
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Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.