Alfred, Lord Tennyson

At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay, We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?"

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: "I know you are no coward; To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain."

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Shall we fight or shall we fly? For I never turn'd my back upon Don or devil yet.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Sir Richard spoke and he laughed, and we roared a hurrah, and so And the little Revenge ran on through the long sea-lane between.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

She with all the charm of woman, She with all the breadth of man.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Love your enemy, bless your haters, said the Greatest of the great; Christian love among the Churches looked the twin of heathen hate.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Charm us, orator, till the lion look no larger than the cat.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

You that woo the Voices—tell them "Old Experience is a fool"; Teach your flattered kings that only those who can not read can rule.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Authors—essayist, atheist, novelist, realist, rhymester, play your part, Paint the mortal shame of nature with the living hues of art.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Who can fancy warless men? Can it, till this outworn earth be dead as yon dead world the moon?

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Yet the moonlight is the sunlight and the sun himself will pass.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Is there evil but on earth? or pain in every peopled sphere?

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Is there evil but on earth? Or pain in every peopled sphere? Well, be grateful for the sounding watchword "Evolution" here.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Evolution ever climbing after some ideal good And Reversion ever dragging Evolution in the mud.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Follow you the star that lights a desert pathway, yours or mine. Forward, till you see the Highest Human Nature is divine.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Love will conquer at the last.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Fires that shook me once, but now to silent ashes fall'n away. Cold upon the dead volcano sleeps the gleam of dying day.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Staled by frequence, shrunk by usage into commonest commonplace!

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Here and there a cotter's babe is royal—born by right divine; Here and there my lord is lower than his oxen or his swine.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Sunset and evening star, When I put out to sea.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Sunset and evening star, Turns again home.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Twilight and evening bell, When I embark.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

For though from out our bourne of Time and Place When I have crossed the bar.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Whate'er thy joys, they vanish with the day: Sleep, happy soul, all life will sleep at last.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Forget thee… Sink again into Chaos.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Robin: No man who truly loves and truly rules Save under traitor kings.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Where Claribel low-lieth Where Claribel low-lieth.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

With blackest moss the flower plots I would that I were dead!'

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

He often lying broad awake, and yet And all things creeping to a day of doom.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss: That we may die the self-same day.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Have I not found a happy earth? Across the walnuts and the wine —

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Dear soul, for all is well."

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath With sounds that echo still.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

At length I saw a lady within call, And most divinely fair.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Half light, half shade, She stood, a sight to make an old man young.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Meet is it changes should control All but the basis of the soul.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

But we grow old. Ah! when shall all men's good Thro' all the circle of the golden year?

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

My good blade carves the casques of men, Because my heart is pure.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, And all the world go by them.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

As shines the moon in clouded skies, "This beggar maid shall be my queen!"

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

All the windy ways of men And is lightly laid again.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Break, break, break, The thoughts that arise in me.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Break, break, break Will never come back to me.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

But oh for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

We love not this French God, the child of hell, And yet, my Lords, not well; there is a higher law.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

I come from haunts of coot and hern, To bicker down a valley.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

And draw them all along, and flow But I go on forever.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

His deeds yet live, the worst is yet to come. I do forgive him!

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

And the parson made it his text that week, and he said likewise, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Speak to Him thou for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet — Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Flower in the crannied wall, I should know what God and man is.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Where love could walk with banish'd Hope no more.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Love's arms were wreathed about the neck of Hope, And Memory fed the soul of Love with tears.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Thou that singest wheat and woodland, tilth and vineyard, hive and horse and herd; All the charm of all the Muses often flowering in a lonely word.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

For Knowledge is the swallow on the lake But never yet hath dipt into the abysm

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

For nothing worthy proving can be proven, And cling to Faith beyond the forms of Faith!

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The shell must break before the bird can fly.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

First pledge our Queen this solemn night, Who loves his native country best.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

O young Mariner, Who follow The Gleam.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Once at the croak of a Raven who crost it, ‘Follow The Gleam.’

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Well, Gosse, would you like to know what I think of Churton Collins? I think he's a Louse on the Locks of Literature.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

As she fled fast through sun and shade Blowing the ringlet from the braid.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

God gives us love. Something to love Falls off, and love is left alone.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace! And the great ages onward roll.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet! Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

More black than ash-buds in the front of March.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

For now the poet can not die, Begins the scandal and the cry.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Mastering the lawless science of our law,— That wilderness of single instances.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Insipid as the queen upon a card.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

O Love! what hours were thine and mine, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

So dear a life your arms enfold, Whose crying is a cry for gold.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Read my little fable: For all have got the seed.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

"I'll never love any but you," the morning song of the lark; "I'll never love any but you," the nightingale's hymn in the dark.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

My God, I would not live Behind the world, that make our griefs our gains.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The golden guess Is morning-star to the full round of truth.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

No sound is breathed so potent to coerce Nobly to do, nobly to die.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

A princelier-looking man never stept thro' a prince's hall.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Slav, Teuton, Kelt, I count them all That wheel between the poles.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The song that nerves a nation's heart Is in itself a deed.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

What use to brood? This life of mingled pains The Mystery.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Be patient. Our Playwright may show In some fifth act what this wild Drama means.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

In our windy world What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

It is not too late to seek a newer world.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

A breath that fleets beyond this iron world And touches him who made it.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Ambition Have done on rafts of wreck—it drives you mad.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The night with sudden odour reeled; The southern stars a music pealed.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Death's truer name Whereto the world beats time.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

A good woman is a wondrous creature, cleaving to the right and to the good under all change: lovely in youthful comeliness, lovely all her life long in comeliness of heart.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Thou who stealest fire, Thou dewy dawn of memory.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest O'er the deep mind of dauntless infancy.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Come forth I charge thee, arise, Divinest Memory!

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Whither in after life retired Subtle-thoughted, myriad-minded.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

When will the stream be aweary of flowing Nothing will die.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Nothing will die; Shall be fill’d with life anew.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The world was never made; All things will change.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

So many minds did gird their orbs with beams, Of high desire.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, You are not one to be desired.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

You sought to prove how I could love, Is not more cold to you than I.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Her manners had not that repose Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

From yon blue heaven above us bent, Smile at the claims of long descent.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, And simple faith than Norman blood.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

There is sweet music here that softer falls Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

There is no joy but calm!

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind, On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

On either side the river lie To many-towered Camelot.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Flowing down to Camelot.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

All in the blue unclouded weather As he rode down to Camelot.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

From the bank and from the river Sang Sir Lancelot.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

She left the web, she left the loom, The Lady of Shalott.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

It little profits that an idle king, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

I am part of all that I have met; For ever and for ever when I move.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me — Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks; Of all the western stars, until I die.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down; To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The bodies and the bones of those "The many fail: the one succeeds."

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

And on her lover's arm she leant, The happy princess follow'd him.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

O eyes long laid in happy sleep! O love, thy kiss would wake the dead!

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

And o'er the hills, and far away Thro' all the world she follow'd him.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

So, Lady Flora, take my lay, Within the bosom of the rose?

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Authority forgets a dying king, That bow’d the will.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The great brand So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

My end draws nigh; 't is time that I were gone. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

When every morning brought a noble chance, And every chance brought out a noble knight.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

It was the time when lilies blow, To give his cousin, Lady Clare.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

"He does not love me for my birth And that is well," said Lady Clare.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

"If I come dressed like a village maid, "And not the Lady Clare".

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

"If you are not the heiress born, And you shall still be Lady Clare".

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, And thinking of the days that are no more.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Dear as remembered kisses after death, O Death in Life, the days that are no more!

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Lead out the pageant: sad and slow, The last great Englishman is low.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Rich in saving common-sense, Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew!

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

For this is England's greatest son, And never lost an English gun.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Yea, let all good things await All voluptuous garden-roses.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Speak no more of his renown, God accept him, Christ receive him!

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Half a league half a league Rode the six hundred.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

"Forward, the Light Brigade!" Rode the six hundred.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Cannon to right of them, Rode the six hundred.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Storm'd at with shot and shell, Left of six hundred.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Perfectly beautiful: let it be granted her: where is the fault? Dead perfection, no more.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

And ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be!

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Who shall call me ungentle, unfair, With a stony British stare.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Come into the garden, Maud, And the musk of the rose is blown.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

For a breeze of morning moves, To faint in his light, and to die.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

All night have the roses heard And a hush with the setting moon.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, To the flowers, and be their sun.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

There has fallen a splendid tear And the lily whispers, "I wait."

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

She is coming, my own, my sweet; And blossom in purple and red.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

A shadow flits before me, What and where they be.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

A mastiff dog Than that the twain have been tied up together.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

To persecute In him who persecutes.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

In statesmanship To strike too soon is oft to miss the blow.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

My lord, you know what Virgil sings— Woman is various and most mutable.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

To do him any wrong was to beget The seed of Hate, it blossomed Charity.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Remember that sore saying spoken once Let all rich men remember that hard word.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Come out, my lord, it is a world of fools.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Unalterably and pesteringly fond.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson