“I wither slowly in thine arms; here at the quiet limit of the world, a white hair'd shadow roaming like a dream.” — Lord Alfred Tennyson Copy Share Image
“I wither slowly in thine arms; here at the quiet limit of the world, a white hair'd shadow roaming like a dream.” — Lord Alfred Tennyson Copy Share Image
“And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady… — Lord Alfred Tennyson Copy Share Image
I hold it true, whatever befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have… — Lord Alfred Tennyson Copy Share Image
“So runs my dream, but what am I? An infant crying in the night An infant crying for the light And with no language… — Lord Alfred Tennyson Copy Share Image
