Alfred Lord Tennyson

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

Alfred Lord Tennyson Poems

161. In Memoriam 16: I Envy Not In Any Moods 1/1/2004
162. Come Down, O Maid 1/1/2004
163. The Owl 1/1/2004
164. Freedom 4/8/2010
165. Amphion 1/1/2004
166. The Lotos-Eaters 1/1/2004
167. Claribel: A Melody 1/1/2004
168. Beautiful City 1/1/2004
169. Demeter And Persephone 1/1/2004
170. O Beauty, Passing Beauty! 1/1/2004
171. Boadicea 1/1/2004
172. By An Evolutionist 1/1/2004
173. The Kraken 4/8/2010
174. Come Into The Garden, Maud 1/1/2004
175. Tears, Idle Tears 1/1/2004
176. Blow, Bugle, Blow 1/1/2004
177. Ring Out , Wild Bells 4/8/2010
178. After-Thought 1/1/2004
179. Cradle Song 1/1/2004
180. Come Not When I Am Dead 1/1/2004
181. Ask Me No More 1/1/2004
182. The Lady Of Shalott (1842) 1/1/2004
183. The Flower 1/1/2004
184. Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead 1/1/2004
185. ‘and Ask Ye Why These Sad Tears Stream?’ 1/1/2004
186. Break, Break, Break 4/8/2010
187. The Eagle 1/1/2004
188. The Brook 1/1/2004
189. A Farewell 1/1/2004
190. Charge Of The Light Brigade 1/1/2004
191. Crossing The Bar 1/1/2004
192. All Things Will Die 1/1/2004
193. Ulysses 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

Merlin And Vivien

A storm was coming, but the winds were still,
And in the wild woods of Broceliande,
Before an oak, so hollow, huge and old
It looked a tower of ivied masonwork,
At Merlin's feet the wily Vivien lay.

For he that always bare in bitter grudge
The slights of Arthur and his Table, Mark
The Cornish King, had heard a wandering voice,

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