If thou shouldst never see my face again, pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let they voice, Rise like a… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
What are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If knowing God, they lift not… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
The old order changeth yielding place to new And God fulfills himself in many ways Lest one good custom should corrupt the… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
. . . More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voice Rise like a fountain… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Are God and Nature then at strife, That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems, So careless… — 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
