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
Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace;Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,While the stars burn, the moons increase,And the great ages onward roll. Sleep… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
My doom is, I love thee still. Let no man dream but that I love thee still. — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
A still small voice spake unto me, 'Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be? — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Do we indeed desire the dead Should still be near us at our side ? Is there no baseness we would hide… — 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
