With blackest moss the flower plots Were thickly crusted, one and all; The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the pear to the gable wall. The… - Alfred Tennyson
" "With blackest moss the flower plots Were thickly crusted, one and all; The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the pear to the gable wall. The broken sheds looked sad and strange: Unlifted was the clinking latch; Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, "My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!'
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About Alfred Tennyson
Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron Tennyson (6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892) was the Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom during much of Queen Victoria's reign, after William Wordsworth, and is one of the most popular English poets.
Biography information from Wikiquote
Also Known As
Native Name:
Alfred Tennyson, 1. Baron Tennyson
Alternative Names:
Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron Tennyson
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Lord Alfred Tennyson
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Alcibiades
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A. Tennyson
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Alfred Tennyson, Baron Tennyson
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Alfred Tennyson Tennyson
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Tennyson
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1st Baron Tennyson of Aldworth and Freshwater Alfred Tennyson
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Alfred Tennyson d'Eyncourt
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Lord Tennyson Alfred
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Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Alfred, Lord Tennyson
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Alfred (Lord)
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Additional quotes by Alfred Tennyson
To sleep! to sleep! The long bright day is done,
And darkness rises from the fallen sun.
To sleep! to sleep!
Whate’er thy joys, they vanish with the day;
Whate’er thy griefs, in sleep they fade away.
To sleep! to sleep!
Sleep, mournful heart, and let the past be past!
Sleep, happy soul! all life will sleep at last.
To sleep! to sleep!
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Then some one spake: "Behold! it was a crime Of sense avenged by sense that wore with time." Another said: "The crime of sense became The crime of malice, and is equal blame." And one: "He had not wholly quench'd his power; A little grain of conscience made him sour." At last I heard a voice upon the slope Cry to the summit, "Is there any hope?" To which an answer peal'd from that high land, But in a tongue no man could understand; And on the glimmering limit far withdrawn God made Himself an awful rose of dawn.
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