As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated with a clown, As the grossness of his nature will have weight… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
From yon blue heavens above us bent The gardener Adam and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite Beyond it, blooms the garden that I love. News from the humming city comes… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
“Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
“Ah Maud, you milk-white fawn, you are all unmeet for a wife.” — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
“It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Match'd with an agèd wife, I mete… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
The parting of a husband and wife is like the cleaving of a heart; one half will flutter here, one there. — 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
