And blessings on the falling out That all the more endears, When we fall out with those we love And kiss again… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
And down I went to fetch my bride: But, Alice, you were ill at ease; This dress and that by turns you… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
O love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul through My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this To waste his whole heart in one kiss… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others; deep as… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Love's arms were wreathed about the neck of Hope, And Hope kiss'd Love, and Love drew in her breath In that close… — 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
