Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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A beam in darkness: let it grow.
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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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For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.
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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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And down I went to fetch my bride: But, Alice, you were ill at ease; This dress and that by turns you tried, Too fearful that you should not please. I loved you better for your fears, I knew you could not look but well; And dews, that would have fall'n in tears, I kiss'd away before they fell.
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A truth looks freshest in the fashions of the day.
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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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Let observation with extended observation observe extensively.
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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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Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.
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What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.
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We are self-uncertain creatures, and we may Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites And private hates with our defence of Heaven.
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O hark,O hear! how thin and clear And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
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The golden guess is morning-star to the full round of truth.
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Where love could walk with banish'd, Hope no more.
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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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I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of pence, Which vexes public men.
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It is unconceivable that the whole Universe was merely created for us who live in this third-rate planet of a third-rate moon.
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Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.
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Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.
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I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
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O Blackbird! sing me something well: While all the neighbors shoot thee round, I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground, Where thou may'st warble, eat and dwell.
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The city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built forever.
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Happy days roll onward leading up to golden years.