Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control; these three alone lead one to sovereign power. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
We are self-uncertain creatures, and we may Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites And private hates with our defence… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling,… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
But while I breathe Heaven's air and Heaven looks down on me, And smiles at my best meanings, I remain Mistress of… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
I hold it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of… — 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
