“Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let thy voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.” — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share Image
“Let Knowledge grow from more to more; but more of reference in us dwell” — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“ The Eagle He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel; For words, like Nature, half reveal And half conceal… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“May make my heart as a milestone, set my face as a flint, cheat and be cheated, and die: who knows? we are ashes… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror’s magic sights, For often thro’ the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“In her right hand the lily, in her left The letter--all her bright hair streaming down-- And all the coverlid was cloth of gold… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees; all times I have enjoy’d Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“The old order changes, giving place to the new... least on good custom should corrupts the world.” — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. "Forward the Light Brigade!… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt,… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“And while he waited in the castle court, The voice of Enid, Yniol's daughter, rang Clear through the open casement of the hall, Singing;… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“And Gareth bowed himself with all obedience to the King, and wrought All kind of service with a noble ease That graced the lowliest… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
“It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole… — Alfred Tennyson Copy Share
