Quotes from Alfred Lord Tennyson

Speak no more of his renown.Lay your earthly fancies down,And in the vast cathedral leave him.God accept him, Christ receive him.

O Sorrow, wilt Thou live with meNo casual mistress, but a wife.

A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times.

Death closes all: but something ere the end,Some work of noble note, may yet be done,Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;Ring out the thousand wars of old,Ring in the thousand years of peace.

In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

And this gray spirit yearning in desireTo follow knowledge like a sinking star,Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

All night have the roses heardThe flute, violin, bassoon;All night has the casement jessamine stirr'dTo the dancers dancing in tune;Till a silence fell with the waking bird,And a hush with the setting moon.

Let knowledge grow from more to more,But more of reverence in us dwell;That mind and soul, according well,May make one music as before.

Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breathPreluded those melodious bursts that fillThe spacious times of great ElizabethWith sounds that echo still.

Into the jaws of death,Into the mouth of hellRode the six hundred.

Wearing all that weightOf learning lightly like a flower.

Our little systems have their day.

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis early morn:Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle horn.

Oh yet we trust that somehow goodWill be the final goal of ill.

God's finger touched him, and he slept.

The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself.

Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful.

It is the little rift within the lute,That by and by will make the music mute,And ever widening slowly silence all.

So all day long the noise of battle roll'dAmong the mountains by the winter sea.

Man's word is God in man.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.

I do but sing because I must,And pipe but as the linnets sing.

Dear as remember'd kisses after death,And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'dOn lips that are for others; deep as love,Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;O Death in Life, the days that are no more.