And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers. — 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
I am going a long way With these thou seëst-if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)-… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Earth is dry to the centre, But spring, a new comer, A spring rich and strange, Shall make the winds blow Round… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
O hark,O hear! how thin and clear And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild… — 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
Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over… — 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
