Alfred, Lord Tennyson Quotes

I will love thee to the death, And out beyond into the dream to come.

We are self-uncertain creatures, and we may Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites And private hates with our defence of Heaven.

Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine, Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine.

What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?

The dream Dreamed by a happy man, when the dark East, Unseen, is brightening to his bridal morn.

All precious things, discover'd late, To those that seek them issue forth, For love in sequel works with fate, And draws the veil from hidden worth.

The woman's cause is man's: they rise or sink Together.

Too much wit makes the world rotten.

Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers; Unfaith is aught is want of faith in all.

Oh yet we trust that somehow good will be the final goal of ill!

I know that age to age succeeds, Blowing a noise of tongues and deeds, A dust of systems and of creeds.

This round of green, this orb of flame, Fantastic beauty; such as lurks In some wild poet, when he works Without a conscience or an aim.

By shaping some august decree, Which kept her throne unshaken still, Broad-based upon her people's will, And compass'd by the inviolate sea.

But the churchmen fain would kill their church, As the churches have kill'd their Christ.

On all things created remaineth the half-effaced signature of God, Somewhat of fair and good, though blotted by the finger of corruption.

All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up, And is lightly laid again.

Ah! well away! Seasons flower and fade.

Nor at all can tell Whether I mean this day to end myself, Or lend an ear to Plato where he says, That men like soldiers may not quit the post Allotted by the Gods.

And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech.

Oh good gray head which all men knew!

All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.

Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death.

Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.

And was the day of my delight As pure and perfect as I say?

What was once to me mere matter of the fancy now has grown the vast necessity of heart and life.

Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.

Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath And after many a summer dieth the swan.

For words like Nature half reveal And half conceal the Soul within.

Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering, 'It will be happier.'

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

Theirs is not to reason why theirs is but to do or die.

The old order changeth yielding place to new and God fulfills himself in many ways.

What's up is faith what's down is heresy.

Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

I myself must mix with action lest I wither by despair.

We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow.

To strive to seek to find and not to yield.

The happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence but in the mastery of his passions.

He is all fault who hath no fault at all. For who loves me must have a touch of earth.

Self-reverence self-knowledge self-control - these three alone lead to sovereign power.

Self-reverence self-knowledge self-control. These three alone lead to sovereign power.

Sleep - kinsman thou to death and trance and madness.

Knowledge comes but wisdom lingers.