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LORD ALFRED TENNYSON
English poet laureate
(1809 - 1892)
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Authority forgets a dying king,
  Laid widow'd of the power in his eye
    That bow'd the will.
      - Morte d'Arthur (l. 121) [Authority]

More things are wrought by prayer
  Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
    Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
      For what are men better than sheep or goats
        That nourish a blind life within the brain,
          If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
            Both for themselves and those who call them friend?
      - Morte d'Arthur (l. 247) [Prayer]

My people too were scared with eerie sounds,
  A footstep, a low throbbing in the walls.
    A noise of falling weights that never fell,
      Weird whispers, bells that rang without a hand,
        Door-handles turn'd when none was at the door,
          And bolted doors that open'd of themselves;
            And one betwixt the dark and light had seen
              Her, bending by the cradle of her babe.
      - Night's Dream (act V, sc. 1, l. 386)
        [Apparitions]

For this is England's greatest son,
  He that gain'd a hundred fights,
    And never lost an English gun.
      - Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington
        [Soldiers]

Foremost captain of his time,
  Rich in saving common sense.
      - Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington
        [Soldiers]

He never sold the truth to serve the hour,
  Nor paltered with Eternal God for power.
      - Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington
        [Power]

Truth-teller was our England's Alfred named?
      - Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington
        [Truth]

A savior of the silver-coasted isle.
      - Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington
         (pt. VI) [Patriotism]

Not once or twice in our rough island story,
  The path of duty was the way to glory.
      - Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington
         (st. 8) [Duty]

Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control.
      - Oenone [Character]

The noonday quiet holds the hill.
      - Oenone (l. 2) [Calmness]

Here comes to-day
  Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each
    This meed of fairest.
      - Oenone (st. 9) [Gods]

Of old sat Freedom on the heights
  The thunders breaking at her feet:
    Above her shook the starry lights;
      She heard the torrents meet.
      - Of old sat Freedom [Freedom]

That loss is common would not make
  My own less bitter, rather more:
    Too common! Never morning wore
      To evening, but some heart did break.
      - On Memoriam (pt. VI, st. 2) [Loss]

O good gray head which all men knew.
      - On the Death of the Duke of Wellington
         (st. 4) [Age]

She saw the snowy poles and moons of Mars,
  That marvellous field of drifted light
    In mid Orion, and the married stars--
      - Palace of Art,
        unfinished lines withdrawn from later editions, appeared in foot-note to edition of 1833
        [Stars]

Or sweet Europa's mantle blew unclasped
  From off her shoulder backward borne;
    From one had drooped a crocus: one hand grasped
      The mild bull's golden horn.
      - Palace of Art (st. 30) [Gods]

Or else flushed Ganymede, his rosy thigh
  Half buried in the Eagle's down,
    Sole as a flying star, shot thro' the sky,
      Above the pillared town.
      - Palace of Art (st. 31) [Gods]

Some full-breasted swan
  That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,
    Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood
      With swarthy webs.
      - Passing of Arthur [Swans]

The old order changeth, yielding place to new;
  And God fulfils himself in many ways,
    Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
      - Passing of Arthur (l. 408) [Custom]

But, rising up,
  Robed in the long night of her deep hair, so
    To the open window moved.
      - Princess [Hair]

Sweet and low, sweet and low,
  Wind of the western sea,
    Low, low, breathe and blow,
      Wind of the western sea!
      - Princess, a song, end of pt. II [Wind]

The bearing and the training of a child
  Is woman's wisdom.
      - Princess (canto V, l. 456) [Motherhood]

Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn,
  The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
    And murmuring of innumerable bees.
      - Princess (canto VII, l. 205) [Nature]

Happy he
  With such a mother! faith in womankind
    Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high
      Comes easy to him, and though he trip and fall,
        He shall not blind his soul with clay.
      - Princess (canto VII, l. 308) [Motherhood]


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