Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast, Or sorrow such a changeling be? — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Oh, for the touch of a vanished hand, and the sound of a voice that is stilled — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
I can't sleep without knowing there's hope. Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze I sorrow. For the… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
“I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Love's arms were wreathed about the neck of Hope, And Hope kiss'd Love, and Love drew in her breath In that close… — 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
