Alfred, Lord Tennyson Quotes

Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.

The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist.

But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.

The many fail: the one succeeds.

But while I breathe Heaven's air and Heaven looks down on me, And smiles at my best meanings, I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul.

Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin, After it, follow it, FollowThe Gleam.

Ah, when shall all men's good Be each man's rule, and universal peace Lie like a shaft of light across the land, And like a lane of beams athwart the sea, Thro' all the circle of the golden year?

And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea, But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.

He is all fault who has no fault at all.

Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens? If all the world were falcons, what of that? The wonder of the eagle were the less, But he not less the eagle.

And every dew-drop paints a bow.

As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated with a clown, As the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.

I wind about, and in and out, - With here a blossom sailing, - And here and there a lusty trout, - And here and there a grayling.

Of love that never found his earthly close, What sequel? Streaming eyes and breaking hearts; Or all the same as if he had not been?

The sin That neither God nor man can well forgive.

The long mechanic pacings to and fro, The set, gray life, and apathetic end.

The bearing and the training of a child Is woman's wisdom.

No rock so hard but that a little wave may beat admission in a thousand years.

His honour rooted in dishonour stood, And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.

Arise, go forth, and conquer as of old.

The city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built forever.

I cannot rest from travel; I will drink Life to the lees.

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.

The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn.

That man's the true Conservative who lops the moldered branch away.

There's no glory like those who save their country.

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.

Nature, red in tooth and claw.

My mind is clouded with a doubt.

Faith lives in honest doubt.

Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land; Ring in the Christ that is to be.

That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.

Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to towered Camelot.

Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, Before a thousand peering littlenesses, In that fierce light which beats upon a throne, And blackens every blot.

The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me.

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall.

We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.

But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.

I am on fire within. There comes no murmur of reply. What is it that will take away my sin, And save me lest I die?

Sweet is true love, though given in vain.

For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.

We love but while we may; And therefore is my love so large for thee, Seeing it is not bounded save by love.

The jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honor feels.

Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed.

Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last-far off-at last, to all, And every winter change to spring.

I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.

I thought I could not breathe in that fine air That pure severity of perfect light I yearned for warmth and colour which I found In Lancelot.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.

I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.