That man's the true Conservative who lops the moldered branch away. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Oh yet we trust that somehow good will be the final goal of ill! — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
I will love thee to the death, And out beyond into the dream to come. — 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
Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love. — 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
