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
But every page having an ample marge, And every marge enclosing in the midst A square of text that looks a little… — 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
But while I breathe Heaven's air and Heaven looks down on me, And smiles at my best meanings, I remain Mistress of… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
I came in haste with cursing breath, And heart of hardest steel; But when I saw thee cold in death, I felt… — 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
