266 ordspråk av Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain,/ To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord.
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And when they buried him the little port/ Had seldom seen a costlier funeral.
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As on this whirligig of Time/ We circle with the seasons.
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As the husband is, the wife is: thou art mated with a clown.
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As the many-wintered crow that leads the clanging rookery home.
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Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are sealed:/ I strove against the stream and all in vain:/ Let the great river take me to the main:/ No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield;/ Ask me no more.
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At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay.
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Authority forgets a dying king
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Barbarous experiment, barbarous hexameters.
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Battering the gates of heaven with the storms of prayer.
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Be near me when my light is low,/ When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick/ And tingle; and the heart is sick,/ And all the wheels of Being slow.
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Because right is right, to follow right were wisdom, in the scorn of consequence.
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Behold a man raised up by Christ.
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Believe me, than in half the creeds.
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Believing where we cannot prove.
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