Guard your roving thoughts with a jealous care, for speech is but the dialer of thoughts, and every fool can plainly read… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Are God and Nature then at strife, That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems, So careless… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
I falter where I firmly trod, And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
There she weaves by night and day, A magic web with colors gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Oh for someone with a heart, head and hand. Whatever they call them, what do I care, aristocrat, democrat, autocrat, just be… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Come not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex… — 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 Image
There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
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 Image
I do but sing because I must; and pipe but as the linnets sing. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
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 Image
