Nor at all can tell Whether I mean this day to end myself, Or lend an ear to Plato where he says,… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
The long mechanic pacings to and fro, The set, gray life, and apathetic end. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace;Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,While the stars burn, the moons increase,And the great ages onward roll. Sleep… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
But thy strong Hours indignant work’d their wills, And beat me down and marr’d and wasted me, And tho’ they could not… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
I have led her home, my love, my only friend. There is none like her, none, And never yet so warmly ran… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Sweet is true love though given in vain, in vain; And sweet is death who puts an end to pain: I know… — 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
