Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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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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A beam in darkness: let it grow.
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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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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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You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad New Year,- Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day; For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.
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Shall love be blamed for want of faith?
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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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The city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built forever.
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Half the night I waste in sighs, Half in dreams I sorrow after The delight of early skies; In a wakeful dose I sorrow For the hand, the lips, the eyes, For the meeting of the morrow, The delight of happy laughter, The delight of low replies.
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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 old order changes yielding place to new.
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Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.
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Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.
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But thy strong Hours indignant work’d their wills, And beat me down and marr’d and wasted me, And tho’ they could not end me, left me maim’d To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. - Tithonus
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Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.
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Love's too precious to be lost, A little grain shall not be spilt.
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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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As love, if love be perfect, casts out fear, so hate, if hate be perfect, casts out fear.
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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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The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.
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Evolution ever climbing after some ideal good, And Reversion ever dragging Evolution in the mud.
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Those who depend on the merits of their ancestors may be said to search in the roots of the tree for those fruits which the branches ought to produce.
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And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.
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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.