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The Poetical Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson, Poet Laureate
Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson
Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1900
Poetical Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson, Poet Laureate
Baron Alfred Tennyson Tennyson,Lord Alfred Tennyson, Baron
Ingen forhåndsvisning tilgjengelig - 2012
Annie answer arms beneath blow break breath brows child close comes dark dead dear death deep door dream earth Enoch eyes face fair fall father fear fire flowers flying follow give golden grow half hand happy hard head hear heard heart Heaven hills hold hope hour keep king kiss knew Lady land leave light lips live look Lord mind moon morn mother move never night o'er once pass past rest rolled rose round seemed shadow side sitting sleep smile song soul sound speak spirit spoke star stood summer sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought till took touch truth turned voice wall wife wild wind woman
Side 191 - Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns.
Side 91 - All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. Let us alone. What pleasure can we have To war with evil ? Is there any peace In ever climbing up the climbing wave ? All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave In silence ; ripen, fall and cease : Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.
Side 181 - Old age hath yet his honor and his toil ; Death closes all : but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
Side 61 - Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, These three alone lead life to sovereign power. Yet not for power (power of herself Would come uncalled for), but to live by law, Acting the law we live by without fear; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
Side 123 - I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days, one summer noon, an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, Holding the sword — and how I...
Side 252 - ... my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play ! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay ! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill ; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.
Side 181 - As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence, something more, A bringer of new things; and vile it were For some three suns to store and hoard myself, And this...
Side 339 - ... the crimson petal, now the white; Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font : The fire-fly wakens : waken thou with me. Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost, And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars, And all thy heart lies open unto me. Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me. Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, And slips into the bosom of the lake : So...
Side 181 - Myself not least, but honour'd of them all; And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move.