Life poems

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In Memoriam A. H. H.: 95. By night we linger'd on the lawn

© Alfred Tennyson

While now we sang old songs that peal'd
From knoll to knoll, where, couch'd at ease,
The white kine glimmer'd, and the trees
Laid their dark arms about the field.

In Memoriam A. H. H.: 82. I wage not any feud with death

© Alfred Tennyson

For this alone on Death I wreak
The wrath that garners in my heart;
He put our lives so far apart
We cannot hear each other speak.

In Memoriam A. H. H.: 7. Dark house, by which once more I s

© Alfred Tennyson

Dark house, by which once more I stand

Here in the long unlovely street,

In Memoriam A. H. H.: 6. One writes, that Other Friends Rem

© Alfred Tennyson

O mother, praying God will save
Thy sailor,--while thy head is bow'd,
His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud
Drops in his vast and wandering grave.

In Memoriam A. H. H.: 55. The wish, that of the living whol

© Alfred Tennyson

I falter where I firmly trod,
And falling with my weight of cares
Upon the great world's altar-stairs
That slope thro' darkness up to God,

In Memoriam A. H. H.: 54. Oh, yet we Trust that somehow Goo

© Alfred Tennyson

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.

In Memoriam A. H. H.: 131. O living will that shalt endure

© Alfred Tennyson

O true and tried, so well and long,
Demand not thou a marriage lay;
In that it is thy marriage day
Is music more than any song.

In Memoriam A. H. H.: 121. Sad Hesper o'er the buried sun

© Alfred Tennyson

The market boat is on the stream,
And voices hail it from the brink;
Thou hear'st the village hammer clink,
And see'st the moving of the team.

In Memoriam A. H. H.: 118. Contemplate all this work of Tim

© Alfred Tennyson

Who throve and branch'd from clime to clime,
The herald of a higher race,
And of himself in higher place,
If so he type this work of time

Come Into The Garden, Maud

© Alfred Tennyson

Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, Night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown.

Come Into the Garde, Maud

© Alfred Tennyson

Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, Night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown.

Alfred Lord Tennyson - The Coming Of Arthur

© Alfred Tennyson

Leodogran, the King of Cameliard,
Had one fair daughter, and none other child;
And she was the fairest of all flesh on earth,
Guinevere, and in her his one delight.