Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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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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Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.
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Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed.
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Ah! well away! Seasons flower and fade.
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Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
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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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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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Blind and naked ignorance delivers brawling judgments, unashamed, on all things all day long.
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Courtesy wins woman all as well. As valor may, but he that closes both is perfect.
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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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Come, my friends Tis not too late to seek a newer world Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die.
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The parting of a husband and wife is like the cleaving of a heart; one half will flutter here, one there.
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Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him; and tho' he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.
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We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.
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The golden guess is morning-star to the full round of truth.
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The thrall in person may be free in soul.
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...and our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.
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Manners are not idle, but the fruit of loyal and of noble mind.
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My doom is, I love thee still. Let no man dream but that I love thee still.
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Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens? If all the world were falcons, what of that? The wonder of the eagle were the less, But he not less the eagle.
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And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two.
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I am on fire within. There comes no murmur of reply. What is it that will take away my sin, And save me lest I die?
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As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated with a clown, As the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.
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Dark house, by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street, Doors, where my heart was used to beat So quickly, waiting for a hand, A hand that can be clasp'd no more - Behold me, for I cannot sleep, And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door. He is not here; but far away The noise of life begins again, And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day.