Alfred Lord Tennyson
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron Tennyson, FRSwas Poet Laureate of Great Britain and Ireland during much of Queen Victoria's reign and remains one of the most popular British poets...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth6 August 1809
men vex want
I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of pence, Which vexes public men.
eye artist hair
Tis not your work, but Love's. Love, unperceived, A more ideal Artist he than all, Came, drew your pencil from you, made those eyes Darker than the darkest pansies, and that hair More black than ashbuds in the front of March.
lying clouds house
Live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurled Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world.
men dies happy-man
Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
lasts lows englishmen
The last great Englishman is low.
air light perfect
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.
ferns valleys sparkle
I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
death twilight farewell
Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell when I embark.
sorrow despair unrest
Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast, Or sorrow such a changeling be?
fate issues veils
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.
moon different cocoons
For every worm beneath the moon Draws different threads, and late and soon Spins, toiling out his own cocoon.
world too-much rotten
Too much wit makes the world rotten.
heart dust sparks
Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.
fall may life-is
It may be that no life is found, Which only to one engine bound Falls off, but cycles always round.