The smell of violets, hidden in the green, Pour'd back into my empty soul and frame The times when I remembered to have been Joyful and free from blame.
Alfred Lord TennysonRing in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land; Ring in the Christ that is to be.
Alfred Lord TennysonHappy 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.
Alfred Lord TennysonAn English homegrey twilight poured On dewy pasture, dewy trees, Softer than sleepall things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace.
Alfred Lord TennysonSweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
Alfred Lord TennysonNature is one with rapine, a harm no preacher can heal; The Mayfly is torn by the swallow, the sparrow speared by the shrike, And the whole little wood where I sit is a world of plunder and prey.
Alfred Lord TennysonThe woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many summer dies the swan. Me only cruel immortality Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms, Here at the quiet limit of the world.
Alfred Lord TennysonOh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again
Alfred Lord TennysonCan calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast, Or sorrow such a changeling be?
Alfred Lord TennysonIf Nature put not forth her power About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour?
Alfred Lord TennysonThere rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go.
Alfred Lord TennysonTheirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.
Alfred Lord TennysonA man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips.
Alfred Lord TennysonO 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.
Alfred Lord TennysonO Love! they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying! And answer, echoes, answer! dying, dying, dying.
Alfred Lord TennysonYou may tell me that my hand and foot are only imaginary symbols of my existence. I could believe you, but you never, never can convince me that the I is not an eternal reality, and that the spiritual is not the true and real part of me.
Alfred Lord TennysonEvery man, for the sake of the great blessed Mother in Heaven, and for the love of his own little mother on earth, should handle all womankind gently, and hold them in all Honor.
Alfred Lord Tennysonif you don't concentrate on what you are doing then the thing that you are doing is not what you are thinking.
Alfred Lord TennysonO mighty-mouthed inventor of harmonies, O skilled to sing of Time or Eternity, God-gifted organ-voice of England, Milton, a name to resound for ages.
Alfred Lord TennysonRing out the grief that saps the mind, for those that were here we see no more.
Alfred Lord TennysonA still small voice spake unto me, 'Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?
Alfred Lord TennysonI come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
Alfred Lord TennysonI envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods: I envy not the beast that takes His license in the field of time, Unfetterโd by the sense of crime, To whom a conscience never wakes; Nor, what may count itself as blest, The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth; Nor any want-begotten rest. I hold it true, whateโer befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; โTis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.
Alfred Lord TennysonFrance had shown a light to all men, preached a Gospel, all men's good; Celtic Demos rose a Demon, shriek'd and slaked the light with blood.
Alfred Lord TennysonHe that wrongs a friend Wrongs himself more, and ever bears about A silent court of justice in his breast, Himself the judge and jury, and himself The prisoner at the bar ever condemned.
Alfred Lord TennysonI can't sleep without knowing there's hope. Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze I sorrow. For the hands, for the lips... the eyes. For the meeting of tomorrow.
Alfred Lord Tennyson