Whate'er thy joys, they vanish with the day: Whate'er thy griefs, in sleep they fade away, To sleep! to sleep! Sleep, mournful… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Are God and Nature then at strife, That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems, So careless… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth. — 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
My life has crept so long on a broken wing Through cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, That I come… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Every man at time of Death, Would fain set forth some saying that may live After his death and better humankind; For… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last-far off-at last, to all, And every winter… — 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
