Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land; Ring in… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing: Toll ye the church bell sad and slow, And… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite Beyond it, blooms the garden that I love. News from the humming city comes… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell when I embark. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For though… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers; Unfaith is aught is want of faith in all. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share
There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share
The still affection of the heart Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again, And left a want unknown before; Although the… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share
Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing a youth sublime With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share
So now I have sworn to bury All this dead body of hate I feel so free and so clear By the loss of… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share
I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share
If Nature put not forth her power About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour? — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share
As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated with a clown, As the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share
Thou madest man, he knows not why, he thinks he was not made to die. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share
