Alfred Lord Tennyson

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

Alfred Lord Tennyson Poems

161. The Princess (Part 2) 1/1/2004
162. The Princess (Part 3) 1/1/2004
163. The Princess (Part 4) 1/1/2004
164. The Princess (Part 5) 1/1/2004
165. The Princess (Part 6) 1/1/2004
166. The Princess (Part 7) 1/1/2004
167. The Princess (Prologue) 1/1/2004
168. The Princess: A Medley: As Thro' The Land 1/1/2004
169. The Princess: A Medley: Ask Me No More 1/1/2004
170. The Princess: A Medley: Come Down, O Maid 1/1/2004
171. The Princess: A Medley: Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead 1/1/2004
172. The Princess: A Medley: Now Sleeps The Crimson Petal 1/1/2004
173. The Princess: A Medley: O Swallow 1/1/2004
174. The Princess: A Medley: Our Enemies Have Fall'N 1/1/2004
175. The Princess: A Medley: Tears, Idle Tears 1/1/2004
176. The Princess: A Medley: Thy Voice Is Heard 1/1/2004
177. The Progress Of Spring 1/1/2004
178. The Revenge - A Ballad Of The Fleet 1/1/2004
179. The Ringlet 1/1/2004
180. The Sailor Boy 1/10/2015
181. The Skipping-Rope 4/8/2010
182. The Splendor Falls 4/8/2010
183. The Talking Oak 1/1/2004
184. The Tears Of Heaven 3/16/2015
185. The Two Voices 2/9/2015
186. The War 4/8/2010
187. Tithonus 1/1/2004
188. To E. Fitzgerald: Tiresias 1/1/2004
189. To Edward Lear: On His Travels In Greece 4/8/2010
190. To J. S. 1/1/2004
191. To The Queen 1/1/2004
192. To Virgil 1/1/2004
193. Ulysses 1/1/2004
194. You Ask Me, Why, Tho' Ill At Ease 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Alfred Lord Tennyson


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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