“I wither slowly in thine arms; here at the quiet limit of the world, a white hair'd shadow roaming like a dream.” — Lord Alfred Tennyson Copy Share Image
“So runs my dream, but what am I? An infant crying in the night An infant crying for the light And with no language but a cry.” — Lord Alfred Tennyson Copy Share Image
“I wither slowly in thine arms; here at the quiet limit of the world, a white hair'd shadow roaming like a dream.” — Lord Alfred Tennyson Copy Share Image
“And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady… — Lord Alfred Tennyson Copy Share Image
I hold it true, whatever befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have… — Lord Alfred Tennyson Copy Share Image
“So runs my dream, but what am I? An infant crying in the night An infant crying for the light And with no language… — Lord Alfred Tennyson Copy Share Image
