266 ordspråk av Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times.
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A truth looks freshest in the fashions of the day.
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After it, follow it, Follow The Gleam.
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After-dinner talk/ Across the walnuts and the wine.
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Ah God! the petty fools of rhyme/ That shriek and sweat in pigmy wars.
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All experience is an arch where through gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move
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All the charm of all the Muses/ often flowering in a lonely word.
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Alone and warming his five wits, the white owl in the belfry sits.
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An English home - gray twilight poured/ On dewy pastures, dewy trees,/ Softer than sleep - all things in order stored,/ A haunt of ancient Peace.
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And curving a contumelious, Gorgonized me from head to foot, With a stony British stare
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And is there any moral shut/ Within the bosom of the rose?
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And out of darkness came the hands that reach thro' nature, moulding men.
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And so the Word had breath, and wrought/ With human hands the creed of creeds/ In loveliness of perfect deeds,/ More strong than all poetic thought.
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And the stately ships go on / To their haven under the hill; / But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, / And the sound of a voice that is still!
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And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea,/ But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.
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