The still affection of the heart Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again, And left a want unknown before;… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
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
The woods are hush'd, their music is no more; The leaf is dead, the yearning past away; New leaf, new life--the days… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
In time there is no present, In eternity no future, In eternity no past. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
I am any man's suitor, If any will be my tutor: Some say this life is pleasant, Some think it speedeth fast,… — 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
