And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
Alfred Lord TennysonThat which we are, we are, and if we are ever to be any better, now is the time to begin.
Alfred Lord TennysonPray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let they voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
Alfred Lord TennysonFor this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.
Alfred Lord TennysonThere 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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson