Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes

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.

Ah, Christ, that it were possible, For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.

Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell when I embark.

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.

The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.

I am going a long way With these thou seëst-if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)- To the island-valley of Avilion, Where falls not hail or rain or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.

Nor at all can tell Whether I mean this day to end myself, Or lend an ear to Plato where he says, That men like soldiers may not quit the post Allotted by the Gods.

Not once or twice in our rough island story, The path of duty was the way to glory.

A louse in the locks of literature.

So sad, so fresh the days that are no more.

Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.

Nature, so far as in her lies, imitates God.

Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot; But Lancelot mused a little space He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.

Strong Son of God, immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove.

It may be that no life is found, Which only to one engine bound Falls off, but cycles always round.

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.

Nor is it wiser to weep a true occasion lost, but trim our sails, and let old bygones be.

Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.

Silence, beautiful voice.

What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.

I will be deafer than the blue-eyed cat, And thrice as blind as any noonday owl, To holy virgins in their ecstasies.

I heard no longer The snowy-banded, dilettante, Delicate-handed priest intone.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, little breezes dusk and shiver, thro' the wave that runs forever by the island in the river, flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls and four gray towers, overlook a space of flowers, and the silent isle imbowers, the Lady of Shalott.

What was once to me mere matter of the fancy now has grown the vast necessity of heart and life.

So I find every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber, and the street, For all is dark where thou art not

Sin is too stupid to see beyond itself.

A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.

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.

Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.

Cricket, however, has more in it than mere efficiency. There is something called the spirit of cricket, which cannot be defined.

And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.

A simple maiden in her flower, Is worth a hundred coats of arms.

Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.

The jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honor feels.

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.

How many a father have I seen, A sober man, among his boys, Whose youth was full of foolish noise.

Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.

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.

I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.

If I make dark my countenance, I shut my life from happier chance.

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.

I can't be anonymous by reason of your confounded photographs. (To Julia Margaret Cameron)

And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two.

I know transplanted human worth will bloom to profit otherwhere.

Blind and naked ignorance delivers brawling judgments, unashamed, on all things all day long

Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again.