Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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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 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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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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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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...and our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.
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Ah! well away! Seasons flower and fade.
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She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.
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How fares it with the happy dead?
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I know that age to age succeeds, Blowing a noise of tongues and deeds, A dust of systems and of creeds.
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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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Nor is it wiser to weep a true occasion lost, but trim our sails, and let old bygones be.
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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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Old age hath yet his honour and his toil.
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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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Blind and naked ignorance delivers brawling judgments, unashamed, on all things all day long.
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Let observation with extended observation observe extensively.
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Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace; Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul, While the stars burn, the moons increase, And the great ages onward roll. Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet. Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet; Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.
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Courtesy wins woman all as well. As valor may, but he that closes both is perfect.
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Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.
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A still small voice spake unto me, 'Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?
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Lady, for indeed I loved you and I deemed you beautiful, I cannot brook to see your beauty marred Through evil spite: and if ye love me not, I cannot bear to dream you so forsworn: I had liefer ye were worthy of my love, Than to be loved again of you - farewell; And though ye kill my hope, not yet my love, Vex not yourself: ye will not see me more.
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The golden guess is morning-star to the full round of truth.
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Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls.
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This barren verbiage, current among men, Light coin, the tinsel clink of compliment.