In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
For now the poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
The world which credits what is done is cold to all that might have been. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel For words, like nature, half reveal And… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
I came in haste with cursing breath, And heart of hardest steel; But when I saw thee cold in death, I felt… — 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
