Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.
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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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Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.
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Ah! well away! Seasons flower and fade.
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Not once or twice in our rough island story, The path of duty was the way to glory.
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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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Tis not your work, but Love's. Love, unperceived, A more ideal Artist he than all, Came, drew your pencil from you, made those eyes Darker than the darkest pansies, and that hair More black than ashbuds in the front of March.
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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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The bearing and the training of a child Is woman's wisdom.
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There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass.
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In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
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There is no land like England, Where'er the light of day be; There are no hearts like English hearts, Such hearts of oak as they be; There is no land like England, Where'er the light of day be: There are no men like Englishmen, So tall and bold as they be! And these will strike for England, And man and maid be free To foil and spoil the tyrant Beneath the greenwood tree.
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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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Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea.
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Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.
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Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.
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But while I breathe Heaven's air and Heaven looks down on me, And smiles at my best meanings, I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul.
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Evolution ever climbing after some ideal good, And Reversion ever dragging Evolution in the mud.
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There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.
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Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever.
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If I make dark my countenance, I shut my life from happier chance.
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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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I loved you, and my love had no return, And therefore my true love has been my death.
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And so the Word had breath, and wrought With human hands the creed of creeds In loveliness of perfect deeds, More strong than all poetic thoughts; Which he may read that binds the sheaf, Or builds the house, or digs the grave, And those wild eyes that watch the waves In roarings round the coral reef.