What the sunshine is to the flower, the Lord Jesus Christ is to my soul. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
“Once in a golden hour I cast to earth a seed. Up there came a flower, The people said, a weed.” — 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
Once in a golden hour, I cast to earth a seed, And up there grew a flower, That others called a weed. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite Beyond it, blooms the garden that I love. News from the humming city comes… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the… — 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
