Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace;Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,While the stars burn, the moons increase,And the great ages onward roll. Sleep… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
It is unconceivable that the whole Universe was merely created for us who live in this third-rate planet of a third-rate moon. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, Tis not too late… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
For every worm beneath the moon Draws different threads, and late and soon Spins, toiling out his own cocoon. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon; All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd To the dancers dancing in… — 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
