“=The Burial of Love= His eyes in eclipse, Pale cold his lips, The light of his hopes unfed, Mute his tongue, His bow unstrung With the tears he hath shed, Backward drooping his graceful head. Love is dead; His last… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share Image
“Let Knowledge grow from more to more; but more of reference in us dwell” — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“ The Eagle He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel; For words, like Nature, half reveal And half conceal… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“May make my heart as a milestone, set my face as a flint, cheat and be cheated, and die: who knows? we are ashes… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror’s magic sights, For often thro’ the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“In her right hand the lily, in her left The letter--all her bright hair streaming down-- And all the coverlid was cloth of gold… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees; all times I have enjoy’d Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“The old order changes, giving place to the new... least on good custom should corrupts the world.” — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. "Forward the Light Brigade!… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt,… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“And while he waited in the castle court, The voice of Enid, Yniol's daughter, rang Clear through the open casement of the hall, Singing;… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“And Gareth bowed himself with all obedience to the King, and wrought All kind of service with a noble ease That graced the lowliest… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
