No rock so hard but that a little wave may beat admission in a thousand years. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
But thy strong Hours indignant work’d their wills, And beat me down and marr’d and wasted me, And tho’ they could not… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, Before a thousand peering littlenesses, In that fierce light which beats upon a throne,… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Never, oh! never, nothing will die; The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Dark house, by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street, Doors, where my heart was used to beat… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to… — 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
