Of old sat Freedom on the heights The thunders breaking at her feet: Above her shook the starry lights; She heard the… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
I heard no longer The snowy-banded, dilettante, Delicate-handed priest intone. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
What! I should call on that Infinite Love that has served us so well? Infinite cruelty rather, that made everlasting hell, Made… — 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
And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon; All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd To the dancers dancing in… — 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
