Alfred Lord Tennyson

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

Alfred Lord Tennyson Poems

121. The Splendor Falls 4/8/2010
122. In Memoriam A. H. H.: 7. Dark House, By Which Once More I S 1/1/2004
123. Mariana 1/1/2004
124. Summer Night 4/8/2010
125. Early Spring 4/8/2010
126. Ode To Memory 4/8/2010
127. In Memoriam 131: O Living Will That Shalt Endure 1/1/2004
128. Beauty 11/27/2014
129. The Higher Pantheism 1/1/2004
130. Flower In The Crannied Wall 4/8/2010
131. Sweet And Low 1/1/2004
132. Guinevere 1/1/2004
133. To The Queen 1/1/2004
134. Duet 1/1/2004
135. Lancelot And Elaine 1/1/2004
136. Audley Court 1/1/2004
137. Locksley Hall 1/1/2004
138. Merlin And Vivien 1/1/2004
139. You Ask Me, Why, Tho' Ill At Ease 1/1/2004
140. The Revenge - A Ballad Of The Fleet 1/1/2004
141. The War 4/8/2010
142. The Garden 1/1/2004
143. In Memoriam A. H. H.: 126. Love Is And Was My Lord And King 1/1/2004
144. Balin And Balan 1/1/2004
145. The Holy Grail 1/1/2004
146. Fatima 1/1/2004
147. Sea Dreams 1/1/2004
148. Spring 1/1/2004
149. The Oak 1/1/2004
150. The Charge Of The Light Brigade 4/8/2010
151. Battle Of Brunanburgh 1/1/2004
152. Politics 4/8/2010
153. The Coming Of Arthur 1/1/2004
154. ŒNone 1/1/2004
155. Tithonus 1/1/2004
156. O, Were I Loved As I Desire To Be! 1/1/2004
157. The Owl 1/1/2004
158. Dedication 1/1/2004
159. Demeter And Persephone 1/1/2004
160. Amphion 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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