Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
There twice a day the Severn fills; The salt sea-water passes by, And hushes half the babbling Wye, And makes a silence… — 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
O Love! they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
And o'er the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day, Thro' all the world… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher The… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
There rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen! There where the long street roars, hath… — 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
