Sweet is every sound, sweeter the voice, but every sound is sweet. — 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
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, Tis not too late… — 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
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
O mighty-mouthed inventor of harmonies, O skilled to sing of Time or Eternity, God-gifted organ-voice of England, Milton, a name to resound… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn, The moans of… — Alfred Lord Tennyson Copy Share Image
Every man at time of Death, Would fain set forth some saying that may live After his death and better humankind; For… — 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
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
