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OBJECT INSTANCES [0] - TOPICS - AUTHORS - BOOKS - CHAPTERS - CLASSES - SEE ALSO - SIMILAR TITLES

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AUTH

BOOKS

IN CHAPTERS TITLE

IN CHAPTERS CLASSNAME
1.at_-_And_Galahad_fled_along_them_bridge_by_bridge_(from_The_Holy_Grail)
1.at_-_Crossing_the_Bar
1.at_-_Flower_in_the_crannied_wall
1.at_-_If_thou_wouldst_hear_the_Nameless_(from_The_Ancient_Sage)
1.at_-_St._Agnes_Eve
1.at_-_The_Higher_Pantheism
1.at_-_The_Human_Cry

IN CHAPTERS TEXT
1.at_-_And_Galahad_fled_along_them_bridge_by_bridge_(from_The_Holy_Grail)
1.at_-_Crossing_the_Bar
1.at_-_Flower_in_the_crannied_wall
1.at_-_If_thou_wouldst_hear_the_Nameless_(from_The_Ancient_Sage)
1.at_-_St._Agnes_Eve
1.at_-_The_Higher_Pantheism
1.at_-_The_Human_Cry

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author
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Alfred Tennyson

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TERMS ANYWHERE



QUOTES [1 / 1 - 310 / 310]


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   1 Alfred Tennyson

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  307 Alfred Tennyson

1:I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all. ~ Alfred Tennyson,

*** WISDOM TROVE ***

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:Love is the only gold. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
2:To many-towered Camelot ~ Alfred Tennyson,
3:That which we are, we are. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
4:no God at all, says the fool, ~ Alfred Tennyson,
5:Authority forgets a dying king ~ Alfred Tennyson,
6:brief is life but love is long ~ Alfred Tennyson,
7:fairy changeling lay the mage; ~ Alfred Tennyson,
8:I will drink life to the lees. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
9:Like a dog, he hunts in dreams ~ Alfred Tennyson,
10:Nature, red in tooth and claw. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
11:The year is dying in the night. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
12:A beam in darkness: let it grow. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
13:Life is brief but love is LONG . ~ Alfred Tennyson,
14:Time...a maniac scattering dust. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
15:I am part of all that I have met. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
16:The quiet sense of something lost ~ Alfred Tennyson,
17:A louse in the locks of literature. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
18:I am a part of all that I have met. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
19:Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
20:Here at the quiet limit of the world. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
21:the deep moans round with many voices. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
22:For always roaming with a hungry heart. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
23:Our wills are ours, to make them thine. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
24:Shall love be blamed for want of faith? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
25:Brothers in Art: a friendship so complete ~ Alfred Tennyson,
26:He makes no friends who never made a foe. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
27:This madness has come on us for our sins. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
28:Wearing his wisdom lightly. ~ Alfred Tennyson, A Dedication.,
29:Who is wise in love, love most, say least. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
30:So sad, so fresh the days that are no more. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
31:The woods decay, the woods decay and fall... ~ Alfred Tennyson,
32:He that runs may read. ~ Alfred Tennyson, The Flower, Stanza 5.,
33:The shell must break before the bird can fly. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
34:She is for always roaming with a hungry heart. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
35:To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
36:We needs must love the highest when we see it. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
37:I embrace the purpose of God and the doom assigned ~ Alfred Tennyson,
38:Wearing all that weight of learning like a flower. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
39:God gives us Love, something to love, God lends us. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
40:A lie that is half-truth is the darkest of all lies. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
41:What rights are those that dare not resist for them? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
42:I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
43:Ours is not to wonder why. Ours is just to do or die. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
44:Sometimes the heart sees what's invisible to the eye. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
45:The words 'far, far away' had always a strange charm. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
46:Come friends, it's not too late to seek a newer world. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
47:Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die ~ Alfred Tennyson,
48:For men may come and men may go, but I go on forever... ~ Alfred Tennyson,
49:I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
50:She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
51:There's not to reason why,
There's but to do and die ~ Alfred Tennyson,
52:I cannot rest from travel; I will drink Life to the lees. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
53:I remain
Mistress of mine own self
and mine own soul ~ Alfred Tennyson,
54:Long sleeps the summer in the seed.

Verse CIV ~ Alfred Tennyson,
55:Ah Maud, you milk-white fawn, you are all unmeet for a wife. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
56:More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
57:And was the day of my delight
As pure and perfect as I say? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
58:Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
59:So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
60:Words, like nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
61:For nothing worthy proving can be proven,
Nor yet disproven... ~ Alfred Tennyson,
62:I follow up the quest despite of day and night and death and hell. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
63:My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
64:For always roaming with a hungry heart / Much have I seen and known. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
65:In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
66:Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for ~ Alfred Tennyson,
67:Let us hush this cry of 'Forward', till ten thousand years have gone. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
68:Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow forever and for ever. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
69:Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
70:And ah for a man to arise in me,
That the man I am may cease to be! ~ Alfred Tennyson,
71:And this electric force, that keeps
A thousand pulses dancing, fail. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
72:Kind hearts are more than coronets, and simple faith than Norman blood. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
73:Let darkness keep her raven gloss:
Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss ~ Alfred Tennyson,
74:Let Knowledge grow from more to more; but more of reference in us dwell ~ Alfred Tennyson,
75:For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
76:Let the great world spin for ever down
the ringing grooves of change. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
77:Los sueños son verdad mientras duran, y nosotros, ¿no vivimos en sueños? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
78:And out of darkness came the hands that reach thro' nature, moulding men. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
79:Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone ~ Alfred Tennyson,
80:Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
81:I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house,
Wherein at ease for aye to dwell ~ Alfred Tennyson,
82:There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
83:And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
84:Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
85:Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,
Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
86:She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room ~ Alfred Tennyson,
87:What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
88:Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
89:Old men must die; or the world would grow moldy, would only breed the past again. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
90:How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
91:In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold ~ Alfred Tennyson,
92:Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
93:To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
94:But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still! ~ Alfred Tennyson,
95:Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
96:But though we love kind Peace so well,
We dare not even by silence sanction lies. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
97:All things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful past ~ Alfred Tennyson,
98:Not once or twice in our fair island-story,
The path of duty was the way to glory. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
99:My religious beliefs also defied convention, leaning towards agnosticism and pandeism. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
100:Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
101:The children born of thee are sword and fire,
Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws, ~ Alfred Tennyson,
102:Their’s not to make reply,
Their’s not to reason why,
Their’s but to do and die ~ Alfred Tennyson,
103:If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
104:Yet I thought I saw her stand,
A shadow there at my feet,
High over the shadowy land. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
105:The city is built
To music, therefore never built at all,
And therefore built forever. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
106:Hope
Smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
Whispering 'it will be happier'... ~ Alfred Tennyson,
107:My purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the Western stars until I die. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
108:Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
109:The old order changes, giving place to the new... least on good custom should corrupts the world. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
110:The mirror crack'd from side to side
"The curse has come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott ~ Alfred Tennyson,
111:I had liefer twenty years/Skip to the broken music of my brains/Than any broken music thou canst make. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
112:The happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence but on the mastery of his passions. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
113:He owns the fatal gift of eyes,
That read his spirit blindly wise,
Not simple as a thing that dies. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
114:Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
115:if you don't concentrate on what you are doing then the thing that you are doing is not what you are thinking. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
116:O love, O fire! once he drew
With one long kiss my whole soul through
My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
117:I wither slowly in thine arms; here at the quiet limit of the world, a white hair'd shadow roaming like a dream. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
118:Wearing all that weight  Of learning lightly like a flower. ~ Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H. (1849), Conclusion, Stanza 10.,
119:Our little systems have their day;
They have their day and cease to be…
And thou, O Lord, art more than they. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
120:How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breathe were life! ~ Alfred Tennyson,
121:No sword
Of wrath her right arm whirl'd,
But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word
She shook the world. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
122:Follow the deer? Follow the Christ the King. Live pure, speak true,right wrong, Follow the King-- Else, wherefore born? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
123:Forerun thy peers, thy time, and let
Thy feet, millenniums hence, be set
In midst of knowledge, dream'd not yet. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
124:I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go
But I go on for ever. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
125:And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
126:May make my heart as a milestone, set my face as a flint, cheat and be cheated, and die: who knows? we are ashes and dust. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
127:Volver mi corazón de piedra, mi rostro de acero,
Engañar y ser engañada, y morir, ¿quién sabe?
Somos cenizas y polvo ~ Alfred Tennyson,
128:Break break break on thy cold grey stones O sea
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
129:For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see,
Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
130:I know not if I know what true love is,
But if I know, then, if I love not him,
I know there is none other I can love ~ Alfred Tennyson,
131:So now I have sworn to bury
All this dead body of hate
I feel so free and so clear
By the loss of that dead weight ~ Alfred Tennyson,
132:Know ye not then the Riddling of the Bards?
Confusion, and illusion, and relation,
Elusion, and occasion, and evasion? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
133:It is unconceivable that the whole Universe was merely created for us who live in this third-rate planet of a third-rate moon. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
134:And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
135:Death closes all: but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with gods. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
136:Seal'd her minefrom her first sweet breath
Mine, and mine by right, from birth till death
Mine, mine-our fathers have sworn. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
137:.... yet all experience is an arc, where through gleams the untraveled world, whose margin fades forever, and forever as I move... ~ Alfred Tennyson,
138:And so there grew great tracts of wilderness, Wherin the beast was ever more and more, But man was less and less, till Arthur came. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
139:Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
140:Above,the fair hall-ceiling stately set Many an arch high up did lift,And angels rising and descending met With interchange of gift. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
141:A thousand suns will stream on thee,
A thousand moons will quiver;
But not by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
142:Hateful is the dark-blue sky,
Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea.
Death is the end of life; ah, why
Should life all labour be? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
143:So runs my dream, but what am I?
An infant crying in the night
An infant crying for the light
And with no language but a cry. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
144:And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shallot. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
145:A 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 Tennyson,
146:Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
147:I fain would follow love, if that could be;
I needs must follow death, who calls for me;
Call and I follow, I follow! let me die. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
148:Never, oh! never, nothing will die;
The stream flows,
The wind blows,
The cloud fleets,
The heart beats,
Nothing will die. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
149:For this alone on Death I wreak
The wrath that garners in my heart:
He put our lives so far apart
We cannot hear each other speak. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
150:We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
“Ulysses” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson ~ Alfred Tennyson,
151:I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
152:The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfils Himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
153:But there was heard among the holy hymns A voice as of the waters, for she dwells Down in a deep‐ calm, whatsoever storms may shake the world ~ Alfred Tennyson,
154: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 ~ Alfred Tennyson,
155:O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each,
That bright and fierce and fickle is the South,
And dark and true and tender is the North. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
156:The seasons bring the flower again, And bring the firstling to the flock; And in the dusk of thee the clock Beats out the little lives of men ~ Alfred Tennyson,
157:Forgive my grief for one removed
Thy creature whom I found so fair
I trust he lives in Thee and there
I find him worthier to be loved. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
158:I sometimes find it half a sin,
To put to words the grief i feel,
For words like nature,half reveal,
and half conceal the soul within, ~ Alfred Tennyson,
159: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. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
160:She howl’d aloud, “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? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
161:Then some one said, "We will return no more";
And all at once they sang, "Our island home
Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
162:Ah, faerics, dancing under the moon,
A Druid land, a Druid tune!
While still I may, I write for you
The love I lived, the dream I knew. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
163:But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
too full for sound or foam,
when that which drew from out
the boundless deep
turns again home. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
164:Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last -- far off -- at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
165:Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
166: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 ~ Alfred Tennyson,
167:Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let thy voice,
Rise like a fountain for me night and day. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
168:All precious things discovered late
To those that seek them issue forth,
For Love in sequel works with Fate,
And draws the veil from hidden worth ~ Alfred Tennyson,
169:I hold it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
170:...and Gareth bowed himself with all obedience to the King, and wrought
All kind of service with a noble ease
That graced the lowliest act in doing it. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
171:after all had eaten, then Geraint,   For now the wine made summer in his veins,   Let his eye rove in following, or rest   On Enid at her lowly handmaid-work, ~ Alfred Tennyson,
172:And what delights can equal those
That stir the spirit's inner deeps,
When one that loves but knows not, reaps
A truth from one that loves and knows? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
173:Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell; That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before,

But vaster. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
174:Love, then, had hope of richer store:
What end is here to my complaint?
This haunting whisper makes me faint,
‘More years had made me love thee more. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
175:The stream will cease to flow;
The wind will cease to blow;
The clouds will cease to fleet;
The heart will cease to beat;
For all things must die. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
176:Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
Thou madest Life in man and brute;
Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot
Is on the skull which thou hast made. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
177:Virtue - to be good and just -
Every heart, when sifted well,
Is a clot of warmer dust,
Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.

- The Vision of Sin ~ Alfred Tennyson,
178:that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
179:I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
180:I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

Verse XXVII ~ Alfred Tennyson,
181:But I remain'd, whose hopes were dim,
Whose life, whose thoughts were little worth,
To wander on a darken'd earth,
Where all things round me breathed of him. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
182:Few from too near inspection fail to lose, Distance on all a mellowing haze bestows; And who is not indebted to that aid Which throws his failures into welcome shade? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
183:There 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. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
184:When in the down I sink my head,
Sleep, Death's twin-brother, times my breath;
Sleep, Death's twin-brother, knows not Death,
Nor can I dream of thee as dead: ~ Alfred Tennyson,
185:That loss is common would not make
My own less bitter, rather more:
Too common! Never morning wore
To evening, but some heart did break.

Verse VI ~ Alfred Tennyson,
186:The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
And the lily whispers, "I wait. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
187:Man is the hunter; woman is his game. The sleek and shining creatures of the chase, we hunt them for the beauty of their skins; they love us for it, and we ride them down. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
188:I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
189:She saw the snowy poles of moonless Mars, That marvellous round of milky light Below Orion, and those double stars Whereof the one more bright

Is circled by the other ~ Alfred Tennyson,
190:I cannot see the features right,
When on the gloom I strive to paint
The face I know; the hues are faint
And mix with hollow masks of night.

Verse LXIX ~ Alfred Tennyson,
191:Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore
Than labor in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar;
O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
192:On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road runs by
To many-towered Camelot. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
193:In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it seemed always afternoon.
All around the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
194: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; ~ Alfred Tennyson,
195:For I Dipt Into the Future,
Far as Human Eye Could See,
Saw the Heavens Filled With Commerce, magic sails argosy
Pilots of the Purple Twilight Dipping Down with costly bales ~ Alfred Tennyson,
196:The woman's cause is man's. They rise or sink
Together. Dwarf'd or godlike, bound or free; miserable,
How shall men grow?--Let her be
All that not harms distinctive womanhood. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
197:Arthur spake, 'Behold, for these have sworn   To wage my wars, and worship me their King;   The old order changeth, yielding place to new;   And we that fight for our fair father Christ, ~ Alfred Tennyson,
198:Maud in the light of her youth and her grace,
Singing of Death, and of Honor that cannot die,
Till I well could weep for a time so sordid and mean,
And myself so languid and base. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
199:Bırak Aşk kavrasın Yas'ı,
Boğulmasın ikisi birden,
Bırak karanlık kuzgununu parıldatsın,
Ah, kaybettiklerinle sarhoş olmak ne tatlıdır,
Ölümle dans etmek, ayaklarınla yeri dövmek. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
200:That a lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies;
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. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
201:But every page having an ample marge,  And every marge enclosing in the midst  A square of text that looks a little blot. ~ Alfred Tennyson, Idylls of the King (published 1859-1885), Merlin and Vivien, line 669.,
202:Who can say
Why Today
Tomorrow will be Yesterday?
Who can tell
Why to smell
The violet, recall the dewy prime
Of youth and buried time?
The cause is never found in rhyme. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
203:You and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
204:Be thou as the immortal are,   Who dwell beneath their God’s own wing A spirit of light, a living star,   A holy and a searchless thing: But oh! forget not those who mourn, Because thou canst no more return. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
205:Yet all things must die.
The stream will cease to flow;
The wind will cease to blow;
The clouds will cease to fleet;
The heart will cease to beat;
For all things must die.
All things must die. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
206:My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
207:Beat, happy stars, timing with things below,
Beat with my heart more blest than heart can tell,
Blest, but for some dark undercurrent woe
That seems to draw—but it shall not be so:
Let all be well, be well. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
208:It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an agèd wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
209:I said, “When first the world began,
Young Nature thro’ five cycles ran,
And in the sixth she moulded man.

“She gave him mind, the lordliest
Proportion, and, above the rest,
Dominion in the head and breast. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
210:Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more! ~ Alfred Tennyson,
211:Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depths of some devine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
212: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 ~ Alfred Tennyson,
213:Sooner or later I too may passively take the print
Of the golden age--why not? I have neither hope nor trust;
May make my heart as a millstone, set my face as a flint,
Cheat and be cheated, and die: who knows? we are ashes and dust. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
214:FLOWER in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, ROOT and all, in my hand,
Little flower—but if I could understand
What you are, ROOT and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
215:No man ever got very high by pulling other people down. The intelligent merchant does not knock his competitors. The sensible worker does not work those who work with him. Don't knock your friends. Don't knock your enemies. Don't knock yourself. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
216:I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees; all times I have enjoy’d Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone; on shore and when Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea: I am become a name… ~ Alfred Tennyson,
217:Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves a shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
and slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip into my bosom and be lost in me. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
218:Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades
Forever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life! ~ Alfred Tennyson,
219:Ah well, well, well, I may be beguiled
By some coquettish deceit.
Yet, if she were not a cheat,
If Maud were all that she seem'd,
And her smile were all that I dream'd,
Then the world were not so bitter
But a smile could make it sweet. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
220:... and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
221:I have led her home, my love, my
only friend.
There is none like her, none,
And never yet so warmly ran my
blood,
And sweetly, on and on
Calming itself to the long-wished for
end,
Full to the banks, close on the prom-
ised good. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
222: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. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
223:Frown not, old ghosts, if I be one of those
Who make you utter things you did not say,
And mould you all awry and mar your work;
For whatsoever knows us truly knows
That none can truly write his single day,
And none can write it for him upon earth. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
224:The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
225: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. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
226:There she weaves by night and day, A magic web with colors gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay, To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
227:Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag,—
Slides the bird o’er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the crag,—

Droops the heavy-blossomed bower, hangs the heavy-fruited tree,—
Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple spheres of sea. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
228: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 ~ Alfred Tennyson,
229:Praise to our Indian brothers, and the dark face have his due!
Thanks to the kindly dark faces who fought with us, faithful and few,
Fought with the bravest among us, and drove them, and smote them, and slew.
That ever upon the topment roof our banner in India blew. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
230:gales! Blest be the bard, whom golden Fancy loves,   He strays for ever thro’ her blooming bowers, Amid the rich profusion of her groves,   And wreathes his forehead with her spicy flowers Of sunny radiance; but how blest is he Who feels the genuine force of high Sublimity!   ~ Alfred Tennyson,
231:The wind sounds like a silver wire,
And from beyond the noon a fire
Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher
The skies stoop down in their desire;
And, isled in sudden seas of light,
My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight,
Bursts into blossom in his sight. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
232:At last I heard a voice upon the slope  Cry to the summit, "Is there any hope?"  To which an answer pealed from that high land,  But in a tongue no man could understand;  And on the glimmering limit far withdrawn,  God made himself an awful rose of dawn. ~ Alfred Tennyson, Vision of Sin, V,
233:While he gazed
The beauty of her flesh abashed the boy,
As though it were the beauty of her soul:
For as the base man, judging of the good,
Puts his own baseness in him by default
Of will and nature, so did Pelleas lend
All the young beauty of his own soul to hers ~ Alfred Tennyson,
234:Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
235:And is it that the haze of grief
Makes former gladness loom so great?
The lowness of the present state,
That sets the past in this relief?

Or that the past will always win
A glory from its being far;
And orb into the perfect star
We saw not when we moved therein? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
236:I came in haste with cursing breath,
And heart of hardest steel;
But when I saw thee cold in death,
I felt as man should feel.

For when I look upon that face,
That cold, unheeding, frigid brown,
Where neither rage nor fear has place,
By Heaven! I cannot hate thee now! ~ Alfred Tennyson,
237:  "Love may come, and love may go,   And fly, like a bird, from tree to tree:   But I will love no more, no more,   Till Ellen Adair come back to me.   "Bitterly wept I over the stone:   Bitterly weeping I turn'd away;   There lies the body of Ellen Adair!   And there the heart of Edward Gray! ~ Alfred Tennyson,
238:Ah my God, what might I not have made of thy fair world, had I but loved thy highest creature here? It was my duty to have loved the highest: It surely was my profit had I known: It would have been my pleasure had I seen. We needs must love the highest when we see it, Not Lancelot, nor another. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
239:Let what is broken so remain. The Gods are hard to reconcile: ‘Tis hard to settle order once again. There is confusion worse than death, Trouble on trouble, pain on pain, Long labour unto aged breath, Sore task to hearts worn out with  many wars And eyes grow dim with gazing on the pilot-stars. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
240:The Oak

Live thy Life,
Young and old,
Like yon oak,
Bright in spring,
Living gold;

Summer-rich
Then; and then
Autumn-changed
Soberer-hued
Gold again.

All his leaves
Fall'n at length,
Look, he stands,
Trunk and bough
Naked strength. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
241:MANY a hearth upon our dark globe sighs after many a vanish’d face,
Many a planet by many a sun may roll with a dust of a vanish’d race.

Raving politics, never at rest—as this poor earth’s pale history runs,—
What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
242: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. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
243:But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often thro’ the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights,
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
“I am half-sick of shadows,” said
The Lady of Shalott. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
244:Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
245: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. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
246:=Lost Hope= You cast to ground the hope which once was mine, But did the while your harsh decree deplore, Embalming with sweet tears the vacant shrine, My heart, where Hope had been and was no more. So on an oaken sprout A goodly acorn grew; But winds from heaven shook the acorn out, And filled the cup with dew. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
247:I falter where I firmly trod,
And falling with my weight of cares
Upon the great world's altar-stairs
That slope thro' darkness up to God,

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
And gather dust and chaff, and call
To what I feel is Lord of all,
And faintly trust the larger hope. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
248:And down I went to fetch my bride:
But, Alice, you were ill at ease;
This dress and that by turns you tried,
Too fearful that you should not please.
I loved you better for your fears,
I knew you could not look but well;
And dews, that would have fall'n in tears,
I kiss'd away before they fell. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
249:All day within the dreamy house,
The doors upon their hinges creaked;
The blue fly sang in the pane; the mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked,
Or from the crevice peered about.
Old faces glimmered through the doors,
Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
Old voices called her from without. . . . ~ Alfred Tennyson,
250:In her right hand the lily, in her left
The letter--all her bright hair streaming down--
And all the coverlid was cloth of gold
Drawn to her waist, and she herself in white
All but her face, and that clear-featured face
Was lovely, for she did not seem as dead,
But fast asleep, and lay as though she smiled. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
251:She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
252:=The Burial of Love= His eyes in eclipse, Pale cold his lips, The light of his hopes unfed, Mute his tongue, His bow unstrung With the tears he hath shed, Backward drooping his graceful head. Love is dead; His last arrow sped; He hath not another dart; Go--carry him to his dark deathbed; Bury him in the cold, cold heart-- Love is dead. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
253:There 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 Tennyson,
254:The old order changeth yielding place to new And God fulfills himself in many ways Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me I have lived my life and that which I have done May he within himself make pure but thou If thou shouldst never see my face again Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
255:Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies; -- Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower -- but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is. [2485.jpg] -- from Tennyson's Poetry (Norton Critical Editions), by Alfred Tennyson / Edited by Robert W. Hill Jr.

~ Alfred Tennyson, Flower in the crannied wall
,
256:I found Him in the shining of the stars,
I marked Him in the flowering of His fields,
But in His ways with men I find Him not.
I waged His wars, and now I pass and die.
O me! for why is all around us here
As if some lesser god had made the world,
But had not force to shape it as he would,
Till the High God behold it from beyond,
And enter it, and make it beautiful? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
257:He often lying broad awake...hath heard time flowing in the middle of the night,
And all things creeping to a day of doom.
How could ye know him? Ye were yet within
The narrower circle; he had wellnigh reached
The last, which with a region of white flame,
Pure without heat, into a larger air
Upburning, and an ether of black blue,
Investeth and ingirds all other lives. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
258:Let me go: take back thy gift:
Why should a man desire in any way
To vary from the kindly race of men,
Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance
Where all should pause, as is most meet for all?
...Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears,
And make me tremble lest a saying learnt,
In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true?
‘The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.’
- Tithonus ~ Alfred Tennyson,
259:Tis a morning pure and sweet,
And a dewy splendour falls
On the little flower that clings
To the turrets and the walls;
'Tis a morning pure and sweet,
And the light and shadow fleet;
She is walking in the meadow,
And the woodland echo rings;
In a moment we shall meet;
She is singing in the meadow,
And the rivulet at her feet
Ripples on in light and shadow
To the ballad that she sings. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
260:O let the solid ground
Not fail beneath my feet
Before my life has found
What some have found so sweet;
Then let come what come may,
What matter if I go mad,
I shall have had my day.

Let the sweet heavens endure,
Not close and darken above me
Before I am quite quite sure
That there is one to love me;
Then let come what come may
To a life that has been so sad,
I shall have had my day. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
261:Our little systems have their day
They have their day and cease to be
They are but broken lights of Thee
And Thou, O L-rd, art more than they

We have but faith, we cannot know
For knowledge is of things we see
And yet we trust it comes from Thee
A beam in darkness: let it grow

Let knowledge grow from more to more
But more of reverence in us dwell
That mind and soul, according well
May make one music as before ~ Alfred Tennyson,
262: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. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
263:More than once when I
Sat all alone, revolving in myself
The word that is the symbol of myself,
The mortal limit of the Self was loosed,
And passed into the nameless, as a cloud
Melts into heaven. I touch’d my limbs, the limbs
Were strange, not mine—and yet no shade of doubt,
But utter clearness, and thro’ loss of Self
The gain of such large life as matched with ours
Were sun to spark—unshadowable in words,
Themselves but shadows of a shadow-world ~ Alfred Tennyson,
264:Hallowed be Thy name -- Halleluiah! -- Infinite Ideality! Immeasurable Reality! Infinite Personality! Hallowed be Thy name -- Halleluiah! We feel we are nothing -- for all is Thou and in Thee; We feel we are something -- that also has come from Thee; We know we are nothing -- but Thou wilt help us to be. Hallowed be Thy name -- Halleluiah! [2490.jpg] -- from The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse, Edited by D. H. S. Nicholson / Edited by A. H. E. Lee

~ Alfred Tennyson, The Human Cry
,
265:So word by word, and line by line,
The dead man touch'd me from the past,
And all at once it seem'd at last
The living soul was flash'd on mine,


And mine in his was wound, and whirl'd
About empyreal heights of thought,
And came on that which is, and caught
The deep pulsations of the world,


Æonian music measuring out
The steps of Time—the shocks of Chance--
The blows of Death. At length my trance
Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
266:Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds,
At last he beat his music out.
There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds.


He fought his doubts and gather'd strength,
He would not make his judgment blind,
He faced the spectres of the mind
And laid them: thus he came at length


To find a stronger faith his own;
And Power was with him in the night,
Which makes the darkness and the light,
And dwells not in the light alone, ~ Alfred Tennyson,
267: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. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
268:In Memoriam A.H.H. Section 5

I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel;
For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.

But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise,
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.

In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold:
But that large grief which these enfold
Is given in outline and no more. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
269:Why are we weigh’d upon with heaviness, And utterly consumed with sharp distress, While all things else have rest from weariness? All things have rest: why should we toil alone, We only toil, who are the first of things, And make perpetual moan, Still from one sorrow to another thrown: Nor ever fold our wings, And cease from wanderings, Nor steep our brows in slumber’s holy balm; Nor harken what the inner spirit sings, “There is no joy but calm!” Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things? ~ Alfred Tennyson,
270:If all your office had to do
With old results that look like new;
If this were all your mission here,

To draw, to sheathe a useless sword,
To fool the crowd with glorious lies,
To cleave a creed in sects and cries,
To change the bearing of a word,

To shift an arbitrary power,
To cramp the student at his desk,
To make old barreness picturesque
And tuft with grass a feudal tower;

Why then my scorn might well descend
On you and yours.

Verse CXXVII ~ Alfred Tennyson,
271:Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver:
No more by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,
A rivulet then a river:
Nowhere by thee my steps shall be
For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thine alder tree
And here thine aspen shiver;
And here by thee will hum the bee,
For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee,
A thousand moons will quiver;
But not by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
272:Me sumergí en el futuro, tan lejos como puede el ojo humano ver, y tuve la visión del mundo, y de todas las maravillas que habría...Mudo el tambor guerrero, plegada la bandera de las batallas en el parlamento del hombre y de la Federación del mundo. Entonces el sentido común de muchos impedirá un inquieto dominio por el temor, y la tierra amiga dormitará, envuelta en ley universal...Porque, a no dudarlo, a través de las eras corre un creciente propósito universal, y los pensamientos de los hombres se amplían con laprocesión de los soles. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
273:Tell thou the King and all his liars, that I
Have founded my Round Table in the North,
And whatsoever his own knights have sworn
My knights have sworn the counter to it -- and say
My tower is full of harlots, like his court,
But mine are worthier, seeing thy profess
To be none other than themselves -- and say
My knights are all adulterers like his own,
But mine are truer, seeing they profess
To be none other; and say his hour is come,
The heathen are upon him, his long lance
Broken, and his Excalibur a straw. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
274:[In response to Alfred Tennyson's poem "Vision of Sin," which included the line "Every moment dies a man, every moment one is born."] If this were true, the population of the world would be at a stand-still. In truth, the rate of birth is slightly in excess of death. I would suggest that the next edition of your poem should read: "Every moment dies a man, every moment 1 [and] 1/16 is born." Strictly speaking, the actual figure is so long I cannot get it into a line, but I believe the figure 1 [and] 1/16 will be sufficiently accurate for poetry. ~ Charles Babbage,
275: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,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

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

For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
276:Kate saith the world is void of might.
Kate saith the men are gilded flies.
Kate snaps her fingers at my vows;
Kate will not hear of lovers sighs.
I would I were an armed knight,
Far-famed for well-won enterprise,
And wearing on my swarthy brows
The garland of new-wreathed emprise
For in a moment I would pierce
The blackest files of clanging fight,
And strongly strike to left and right,
In dreaming of my lady's eyes.
O, Kate loves well the bold and fierce;
But none are bold enough for Kate,
She cannot find a fitting mate. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
277:You and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks,
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. 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. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
278:Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

O, well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
279:I 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,
Unfetter’d 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, whate’er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
‘Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
280:Be near me when my light is low,   When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick And tingle ; and the heart is sick,   And all the wheels of Being slow.   Be near me when the sensuous frame   Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust, And time, a maniac, scattering dust,   And life, a Fury, slinging flame.   Be near me when my faith is dry,   And men the flies of latter spring, That lay their eggs, and sting and sing,   And weave their petty cells and die.   Be near me when I fade away,   To point the term of human strife, And on the low dark verge of life   The twilight of eternal day. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
281:There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate.
The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
And the lily whispers, "I wait."

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead,
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
282:Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of Being slow.

Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And Life, a fury slinging flame.

Be near me when my faith is dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing
And weave their petty cells and die.

Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
283:My own dim life should teach me this,
That life shall live for evermore,
Else earth is darkness at the core,
And dust and ashes all that is;


This round of green, this orb of flame,
Fantastic beauty such as lurks
In some wild Poet, when he works
Without a conscience or an aim.


What then were God to such as I?
'Twere hardly worth my while to choose
Of things all mortal, or to use
A tattle patience ere I die;


'Twere best at once to sink to peace,
Like birds the charming serpent draws,
To drop head-foremost in the jaws
Of vacant darkness and to cease. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
284: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, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar. [2484.jpg] -- from Alfred Lord Tennyson: Selected Poems (Penguin Classics), by Alfred Tennyson

~ Alfred Tennyson, Crossing the Bar
,
285:A kind of walking trance I have frequently had, quite up from boyhood, when I have been all alone. This has often come upon me through repeating my own name to myself silently till, all at once, as it were, out of the intensity of the consciousness of individuality, the individuality itself seemed to dissolve and fade away into boundless being; and this not a confused state, but the clearest of the clearest, the surest of the surest, the weirdest of the weirdest, utterly beyond words, where death was an almost laughable impossibility, the loss of personality (if so it were) seeming no extinction, but the only true life.... ~ Alfred Tennyson,
286:What hope is here for modern rhyme
To him, who turns a musing eye
On songs, and deeds, and lives, that lie
Foreshorten'd in the tract of time?


These mortal lullabies of pain
May bind a book, may line a box,
May serve to curl a maiden's locks;
Or when a thousand moons shall wane


A man upon a stall may find,
And, passing, turn the page that tells
A grief, then changed to something else,
Sung by a long-forgotten mind.


But what of that? My darken'd ways
Shall ring with music all the same;
To breathe my loss is more than fame,
To utter love more sweet than praise. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
287:T is 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.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Mov’d earth and heaven, that which we are, we are:
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
288:I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breath were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
289:I myself beheld the King
Charge at the head of all his Table Round,
And all his legions crying Christ and him,
And break them; and I saw him, after, stand
High on a heap of slain, from spur to plume
Red as the rising sun with heathen blood,
And seeing me, with a great voice he cried,
"They are broken, they are broken!" for the King,
However mild he seems at home, nor cares
For triumph in our mimic wars, the jousts—
For if his own knight cast him down, he laughs
Saying, his knights are better men than he—
Yet in this heathen war the fire of God
Fills him: I never saw his like: there lives
No greater leader. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
290:O, were I loved as I desire to be!
What is there in the great sphere of the earth,
Or range of evil between death and birth,
That I should fear, - if I were loved by thee!
All the inner, all the outer world of pain,
Clear love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert mine;
As I have heard that somewhere in the main
Fresh-water springs come up through bitter brine.
‘I were joy, not fear, clasped hand in hand with thee,
To wait for death - mute - careless of all ills,
Apart upon a mountain, though the surge
Of some new deluge from a thousand hills
Flung leagues of roaring foam into the gorge
Below us, as far on as eye could see. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
291:Miltons were, on the whole, the most enthusiastic poet followers. A flick through the London telephone directory would yield about four thousand John Miltons, two thousand William Blakes, a thousand or so Samuel Colleridges, five hundred Percy Shelleys, the same of Wordsworth and Keats, and a handful of Drydens. Such mass name-changing could have problems in law enforcement. Following an incident in a pub where the assailant, victim, witness, landlord, arresting officer and judge had all been called Alfred Tennyson, a law had been passed compelling each namesake to carry a registration number tattooed behind the ear. It hadn't been well received--few really practical law-enforcement measures ever are. ~ Jasper Fforde,
292:To Alfred Tennyson
Poet! in other lands, when Spring no more
Gleams o'er the grass, nor in the thicket-side
Plays at being lost and laughs to be descried,
And blooms lie wilted on the orchard floor,
Then the sweet birds that from Ægean shore
Across Ausonian breakers thither hied,
Own April's music in their breast hath died,
And croft and copse resound not as before.
But, in this privileged Isle, this brave, this blest,
This deathless England, it seems always Spring.
Though graver wax the days, Song takes not wing.
In Autumn boughs it builds another nest:
Even from the snow we lift our hearts and sing,
And still your voice is heard above the rest.
~ Alfred Austin,
293:The Flower

Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went
Thro’ my garden-bower,
And muttering discontent
Cur’d me and my flower.

Then it grew so tall
It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o’er the wall
Stole the seed by night.

Sow’d it far and wide
By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
“Splendid is the flower.”

Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,
For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough,
And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
Call it but a weed. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
294:Montenegro (1877)

THEY rose to where their sovereign eagle sails,
They kept their faith, their freedom, on the height,
Chaste, frugal, savage, arm'd by day and night
Against the Turk; whose inroad nowhere scales
Their headlong passes, but his footstep fails,
And red with blood the Crescent reels from fight
Before their dauntless hundreds, in prone flight
By thousands down the crags and thro' the vales.
O smallest among peoples! rough rock-throne
Of Freedom! warriors beating back the swarm
Of Turkish Islam for five hundred years,
Great Tsernogora! never since thine own
Black ridges drew the cloud and brake the storm
Has breathed a race of mightier mountaineers.
Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1880 ~ Alfred Tennyson,
295:Oh yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;


That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroy'd,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;


That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shrivell'd in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another's gain.


Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last—far off—at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.


So runs my dream: but what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
296:For I dipt into the future,
far as human eye could see,
Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be;
Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails,
Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales;
Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there raind a ghastly dew
From the nations airy navies grappling in the central blue;
Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm,
With the standards of the peoples plunging thro the thunder-storm;
Till the war-drums throbbd, no longer, and the battle-flags were furled
In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.
There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe,
And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
297:I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd Greatly,
have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use! ~ Alfred Tennyson,
298:And while he waited in the castle court,
The voice of Enid, Yniol's daughter, rang
Clear through the open casement of the hall,
Singing; and as the sweet voice of a bird,
Heard by the lander in a lonely isle,
Moves him to think what kind of bird it is
That sings so delicately clear, and make
Conjecture of the plumage and the form;
So the sweet voice of Enid moved Geraint;
And made him like a man abroad at morn
When first the liquid note beloved of men
Comes flying over many a windy wave
To Britain, and in April suddenly
Breaks from a coppice gemmed with green and red,
And he suspends his converse with a friend,
Or it may be the labour of his hands,
To think or say, 'There is the nightingale;'
So fared it with Geraint, who thought and said,
'Here, by God's grace, is the one voice for me. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
299:That which we dare invoke to bless;
Our dearest faith; our ghastliest doubt;
He, They, One, All; within, without;
The Power in darkness whom we guess;


I found Him not in world or sun,
Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye;
Nor thro' the questions men may try,
The petty cobwebs we have spun:


If e'er when faith had fall'n asleep,
I heard a voice `believe no more'
And heard an ever-breaking shore
That tumbled in the Godless deep;


A warmth within the breast would melt
The freezing reason's colder part,
And like a man in wrath the heart
Stood up and answer'd `I have felt.'


No, like a child in doubt and fear:
But that blind clamour made me wise;
Then was I as a child that cries,
But, crying, knows his father near;


And what I am beheld again
What is, and no man understands;
And out of darkness came the hands
That reach thro' nature, moulding men. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
300:I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more, ~ Alfred Tennyson,
301:I sing to him that rests below,
And, since the grasses round me wave,
I take the grasses of the grave,
And make them pipes whereon to blow.


The traveller hears me now and then,
And sometimes harshly will he speak:
`This fellow would make weakness weak,
And melt the waxen hearts of men.'


Another answers, `Let him be,
He loves to make parade of pain
That with his piping he may gain
The praise that comes to constancy.'


A third is wroth: `Is this an hour
For private sorrow's barren song,
When more and more the people throng
The chairs and thrones of civil power?


'A time to sicken and to swoon,
When Science reaches forth her arms
To feel from world to world, and charms
Her secret from the latest moon?'


Behold, ye speak an idle thing:
Ye never knew the sacred dust:
I do but sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing:


And one is glad; her note is gay,
For now her little ones have ranged;
And one is sad; her note is changed,
Because her brood is stol'n away. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
302:I know her by her angry air,
Her brightblack eyes, her brightblack hair,
Her rapid laughters wild and shrill,
As laughter of the woodpecker
From the bosom of a hill.
'Tis Kate--she sayeth what she will;
For Kate hath an unbridled tongue,
Clear as the twanging of a harp.
Her heart is like a throbbing star.
Kate hath a spirit ever strung
Like a new bow, and bright and sharp
As edges of the scymetar.
Whence shall she take a fitting mate?
For Kate no common love will feel;
My woman-soldier, gallant Kate,
As pure and true as blades of steel.
Kate saith "the world is void of might".
Kate saith "the men are gilded flies".
Kate snaps her fingers at my vows;
Kate will not hear of lover's sighs.
I would I were an armèd knight,
Far famed for wellwon enterprise,
And wearing on my swarthy brows
The garland of new-wreathed emprise:
For in a moment I would pierce
The blackest files of clanging fight,
And strongly strike to left and right,
In dreaming of my lady's eyes.
Oh! Kate loves well the bold and fierce;
But none are bold enough for Kate,
She cannot find a fitting mate. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
303:The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains -- Are not these, O Soul, the Vision of Him who reigns? Is not the Vision He? tho' He be not that which He seems? Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams? Earth, these solid stars, this weight of body and limb, Are they not sign and symbol of thy division from Him? Dark is the world to thee: thyself art the reason why; For is He not all but thou, that hast power to feel 'I am I'? Glory about thee, without thee; and thou fulfillest thy doom, Making Him broken gleams, and a stifled splendour and gloom. Speak to Him thou for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet -- Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet. God is law, say the wise; O Soul, and let us rejoice, For if He thunder by law the thunder is yet His voice. Law is God, say some: no God at all, says the fool; For all we have power to see is a straight staff bent in a pool; And the ear of man cannot hear, and the eye of man cannot see; But if we could see and hear, this Vision -- were it not He? [2652.jpg] -- from The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology), Edited by Ivan M. Granger

~ Alfred Tennyson, The Higher Pantheism
,
304:Deep on the convent-roof the snows Are sparkling to the moon: My breath to heaven like vapour goes: May my soul follow soon! The shadows of the convent-towers Slant down the snowy sward, Still creeping with the creeping hours That lead me to my Lord: Make Thou my spirit pure and clear As are the frosty skies, Or this first snowdrop of the year That in my bosom lies. As these white robes are soil'd and dark, To yonder shining ground; As this pale taper's earthly spark, To yonder argent round; So shows my soul before the Lamb, My spirit before Thee; So in mine earthly house I am, To that I hope to be. Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far, Thro' all yon starlight keen, Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star, In raiment white and clean. He lifts me to the golden doors; The flashes come and go; All heaven bursts her starry floors, And strows her lights below, And deepens on and up! the gates Roll back, and far within For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits, To make me pure of sin. The sabbaths of Eternity, One sabbath deep and wide -- A light upon the shining sea -- The Bridegroom with his bride! [2490.jpg] -- from The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse, Edited by D. H. S. Nicholson / Edited by A. H. E. Lee

~ Alfred Tennyson, St. Agnes Eve
,
305:Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.


Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.


Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.


Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.


Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.


Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.


Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.


Ring 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 Tennyson,
306:Oh, Beauty, passing beauty

Oh, Beauty, passing beauty! sweetest Sweet!
How canst thou let me waste my youth in sighs?
I only ask to sit beside thy feet.
Thou knowest I dare not look into thine eyes,
Might I but kiss thy hand! I dare not fold
My arms about thee ­ scarcely dare to speak.
And nothing seems to me so wild and bold,
As with one kiss to touch thy blessed cheek.
Methinks if I should kiss thee, no control
Within the thrilling brain could keep afloat
The subtle spirit. Even while I spoke,
The bare word KISS hath made my inner soul
To tremble like a lutestring, ere the note
Hath melted in the silence that it broke.



But were I loved, as I desire to be,
What is there in the great sphere of the earth,
And range of evil between death and birth,
That I should fear ­ if I were loved by thee?
All the inner, all the outer world of pain
Clear Love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert mine,
As I have heard that, somewhere in the main,
Fresh water-springs come up through bitter brine.
'Twere joy, not fear, clasped hand in hand with thee,
To wait for death ­ mute ­ careless of all ills,
Apart upon a mountain, though the surge
Of some new deluge from a thousand hills
Flung leagues of roaring foam into the gorge
Below us, as far on as eye could see. ~ Alfred Tennyson,
307:And Galahad fled along them bridge by bridge, And every bridge as quickly as he crost Sprang into fire and vanish'd, tho' I yearn'd To follow; and thrice above him all the heavens Open'd and blazed with thunder such as seem'd Shoutings of all the sons of God: and first At once I saw him far on the great Sea, In silver-shining armour starry-clear; And o'er his head the Holy Vessel hung Clothed in white samite or a luminous cloud. And with exceeding swiftness ran the boat, If boat it were -- I saw not whence it came. And when the heavens open'd and blazed again Roaring, I saw him like a silver star -- And had he set the sail, or had the boat Become a living creature clad with wings? And o'er his head the Holy Vessel hung Redder than any rose, a joy to me, For now I knew the veil had been withdrawn. Then in a moment when they blazed again Opening, I saw the least of little stars Down on the waste, and straight beyond the star I saw the spiritual city and all her spires And gateways in a glory like one pearl -- No larger, tho' the goal of all the saints -- Strike from the sea; and from the star there shot A rose-red sparkle to the city, and there Dwelt, and I knew it was the Holy Grail, Which never eyes on earth again shall see. [2490.jpg] -- from The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse, Edited by D. H. S. Nicholson / Edited by A. H. E. Lee

~ Alfred Tennyson, And Galahad fled along them bridge by bridge (from The Holy Grail)
,
308:Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred! ~ Alfred Tennyson,
309:If thou would'st hear the Nameless, and wilt dive Into the Temple-cave of thine own self, There, brooding by the central altar, thou May'st haply learn the Nameless hath a voice, By which thou wilt abide, if thou be wise, As if thou knewest, tho' thou canst not know; For Knowledge is the swallow on the lake That sees and stirs the surface-shadow there But never yet hath dipt into the abysm, The Abysm of all Abysms, beneath, within The blue of sky and sea, the green of earth, And in the million-millionth of a grain Which cleft and cleft again for evermore, And ever vanishing, never vanishes, To me, my son, more mystic than myself, Or even than the Nameless is to me. And when thou sendest thy free soul thro' heaven, Nor understandest bound nor boundlessness, Thou seest the Nameless of the hundred names. And if the Nameless should withdraw from all Thy frailty counts most real, all thy world Might vanish like thy shadow in the dark. 'And since -- from when this earth began -- The Nameless never came Among us, never spake with man, And never named the Name' -- Thou canst not prove the Nameless, O my son, Nor canst thou prove the world thou movest in, Thou canst not prove that thou art body alone, Nor canst thou prove that thou art spirit alone, Nor canst thou prove that thou art both in one: Thou canst not prove thou art immortal, no Nor yet that thou art mortal -- nay my son, Thou canst not prove that I, who speak with thee, Am not thyself in converse with thyself, For nothing worthy proving can be proven, Nor yet disproven: wherefore thou be wise, Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt, And cling to Faith beyond the forms of Faith She reels not in the storm of warring words, She brightens at the clash of 'Yes' and 'No', She sees the Best that glimmers thro' the Worst, She feels the Sun is hid but for a night, She spies the summer thro' the winter bud, She tastes the fruit before the blossom falls, She hears the lark within the songless egg, She finds the fountain where they wail'd 'Mirage'! [2490.jpg] -- from The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse, Edited by D. H. S. Nicholson / Edited by A. H. E. Lee

~ Alfred Tennyson, If thou wouldst hear the Nameless (from The Ancient Sage)
,
310:It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
life to the lees. All times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
that loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea. I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known---cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honored of them all---
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades
Forever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end.
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is my son, my own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the scepter and the isle---
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me---
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads---you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. 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.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be that we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are---
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. ~ Alfred Tennyson,

IN CHAPTERS [2/2]



   2 Poetry


   2 Alfred Tennyson




1.at - Crossing the Bar, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   Original Language English 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, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar. [2484.jpg] -- from Alfred Lord Tennyson: Selected Poems (Penguin Classics), by Alfred Tennyson

1.at - Flower in the crannied wall, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   Original Language English Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies; -- Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower -- but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is. [2485.jpg] -- from Tennyson's Poetry (Norton Critical Editions), by Alfred Tennyson / Edited by Robert W. Hill Jr. <

WORDNET



--- Overview of noun alfred_tennyson

The noun alfred tennyson has 1 sense (no senses from tagged texts)
              
1. Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, First Baron Tennyson, Alfred Lord Tennyson ::: (Englishman and Victorian poet (1809-1892))


--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun alfred_tennyson

1 sense of alfred tennyson                      

Sense 1
Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, First Baron Tennyson, Alfred Lord Tennyson
   INSTANCE OF=> poet
     => writer, author
       => communicator
         => person, individual, someone, somebody, mortal, soul
           => organism, being
             => living thing, animate thing
               => whole, unit
                 => object, physical object
                   => physical entity
                     => entity
           => causal agent, cause, causal agency
             => physical entity
               => entity


--- Hyponyms of noun alfred_tennyson
                                    


--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun alfred_tennyson

1 sense of alfred tennyson                      

Sense 1
Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, First Baron Tennyson, Alfred Lord Tennyson
   INSTANCE OF=> poet




--- Coordinate Terms (sisters) of noun alfred_tennyson

1 sense of alfred tennyson                      

Sense 1
Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, First Baron Tennyson, Alfred Lord Tennyson
  -> poet
   => bard
   => elegist
   => odist
   => poetess
   => poet laureate
   => poet laureate
   => sonneteer
   HAS INSTANCE=> Alcaeus
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Auden, W. H. Auden, Wystan Hugh Auden
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Browning, Robert Browning
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Homer
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Martial
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Mayakovski, Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovski
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Milton, John Milton
   HAS INSTANCE=> Moore, Marianne Moore, Marianne Craig Moore
   HAS INSTANCE=> Moore, Thomas Moore
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Pound, Ezra Pound, Ezra Loomis Pound
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Racine, Jean Racine, Jean Baptiste Racine
   HAS INSTANCE=> Riley, James Whitcomb Riley
   HAS INSTANCE=> Rilke, Rainer Maria Rilke
   HAS INSTANCE=> Rimbaud, Arthur Rimbaud, Jean Nicholas Arthur Rimbaud
   HAS INSTANCE=> Robinson, Edwin Arlington Robinson
   HAS INSTANCE=> Rostand, Edmond Rostand
   HAS INSTANCE=> Seeger, Alan Seeger
   HAS INSTANCE=> Sexton, Anne Sexton
   HAS INSTANCE=> Shakespeare, William Shakespeare, Shakspere, William Shakspere, Bard of Avon
   HAS INSTANCE=> Shelley, Percy Bysshe Shelley
   HAS INSTANCE=> Shevchenko, Taras Grigoryevich Shevchenko
   HAS INSTANCE=> Sidney, Sir Philip Sidney
   HAS INSTANCE=> Silverstein, Shel Silverstein, Shelby Silverstein
   HAS INSTANCE=> Sitwell, Dame Edith Sitwell, Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
   HAS INSTANCE=> Southey, Robert Southey
   HAS INSTANCE=> Spender, Stephen Spender, Sir Stephen Harold Spender
   HAS INSTANCE=> Spenser, Edmund Spenser
   HAS INSTANCE=> Stevens, Wallace Stevens
   HAS INSTANCE=> Suckling, Sir John Suckling
   HAS INSTANCE=> Swinburne, Algernon Charles Swinburne
   HAS INSTANCE=> Symons, Arthur Symons
   HAS INSTANCE=> Synge, J. M. Synge, John Millington Synge, Edmund John Millington Synge
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tasso, Torquato Tasso
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tate, Allen Tate, John Orley Allen Tate
   HAS INSTANCE=> Teasdale, Sara Teasdale
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, First Baron Tennyson, Alfred Lord Tennyson
   HAS INSTANCE=> Thespis
   HAS INSTANCE=> Thomas, Dylan Thomas, Dylan Marlais Thomas
   HAS INSTANCE=> Trumbull, John Trumbull
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tzara, Tristan Tzara, Samuel Rosenstock
   HAS INSTANCE=> Uhland, Johann Ludwig Uhland
   HAS INSTANCE=> Verlaine, Paul Verlaine
   HAS INSTANCE=> Villon, Francois Villon
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Warren, Robert Penn Warren
   HAS INSTANCE=> Watts, Isaac Watts
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Whitman, Walt Whitman
   HAS INSTANCE=> Whittier, John Greenleaf Whittier
   HAS INSTANCE=> Williams, William Carlos Williams
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wordsworth, William Wordsworth
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wyatt, Sir Thomas Wyatt, Wyat, Sir Thomas Wyat
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wylie, Elinor Morton Hoyt Wylie
   HAS INSTANCE=> Yeats, William Butler Yeats, W. B. Yeats
   HAS INSTANCE=> Yevtushenko, Yevgeni Yevtushenko, Yevgeni Aleksandrovich Yevtushenko
   HAS INSTANCE=> Young, Edward Young




--- Grep of noun alfred_tennyson
alfred tennyson



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