Alfred Lord Tennyson

(6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892 / Lincoln / England)

Alfred Lord Tennyson Poems

121. Sea Dreams 1/1/2004
122. Sir Galahad 1/1/2004
123. Sir Launcelot And Queen Guinevere 4/8/2010
124. Spring 1/1/2004
125. St. Agnes' Eve 1/1/2004
126. Summer Night 4/8/2010
127. Sweet And Low 1/1/2004
128. Tears, Idle Tears 1/1/2004
129. The Blackbird -new- 7/2/2015
130. The Brook 1/1/2004
131. The Charge Of The Light Brigade 4/8/2010
132. The Coming Of Arthur 1/1/2004
133. The Death Of The Old Year 4/8/2010
134. The Defence Of Lucknow 4/8/2010
135. The Deserted House 1/1/2004
136. The Eagle 1/1/2004
137. The Flower 1/1/2004
138. The Garden 1/1/2004
139. The Grandmother 1/1/2004
140. The Higher Pantheism 1/1/2004
141. The Holy Grail 1/1/2004
142. The Kraken 4/8/2010
143. The Lady Of Shalott (1832) 1/1/2004
144. The Lady Of Shalott (1842) 1/1/2004
145. The Last Tournament 4/8/2010
146. The Letters 1/1/2004
147. The Lord Of Burleigh 1/1/2004
148. The Lotos-Eaters 1/1/2004
149. The Marriage Of Geraint 1/1/2004
150. The Mermaid 4/8/2010
151. The Miller's Daughter 1/1/2004
152. The Oak 1/1/2004
153. The Owl 1/1/2004
154. The Palace Of Art 1/1/2004
155. The Passing Of Arthur 1/1/2004
156. The Princess (Part 1) 1/1/2004
157. The Princess (Part 2) 1/1/2004
158. The Princess (Part 3) 1/1/2004
159. The Princess (Part 4) 1/1/2004
160. The Princess (Part 5) 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Alfred Lord Tennyson

Ulysses

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known,-- cities of men ...

Read the full of Ulysses

The Garden

Excerpt from "Maud"

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead,
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

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