Alfred Lord Tennyson: A Memoir by His Son, Volume 2 (Google eBook)

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The Macmillan company, 1897
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Page 414 - SUNSET and evening star, And one clear call for me ! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark ; For tho...
Page 425 - On God and Godlike men we build our trust. Hush, the Dead March wails in the people's ears: The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears: The black earth yawns: the mortal disappears; Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; He is gone who seem'd so great.
Page 116 - But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near: And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
Page 516 - Standing on earth, not rapt above the pole, More safe I sing with mortal voice unchanged To hoarse or mute, though fall'n on evil days, On evil days though fall'n, and evil tongues...
Page 513 - As when far off at sea a fleet descried Hangs in the clouds, by equinoctial winds Close sailing from Bengala, or the isles Of Ternate and Tidore, whence merchants bring Their .spicy drugs ; they on the trading flood, 640 Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape, Ply stemming nightly toward the pole : so seemed Far off the flying Fiend.
Page 387 - Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight.
Page 507 - 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. So runs my dream; but what am I? An infant crying in the night; An infant crying for the light, And with no language but a cry.
Page 301 - It were good therefore that men in their innovations would follow the example of time itself, which indeed innovateth greatly, but quietly and by degrees scarce to be perceived...
Page 284 - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Page 495 - Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, Lady, were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Should'st rubies find: I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood: And you should if you please refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow.

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