Death is the end of life; ah, why Should life all labour be… - Alfred Tennyson

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Death is the end of life; ah, why Should life all labour be? Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, And in a little while our lips are dumb. Let us alone. What is it that will last? All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past. Let us alone. What pleasure can we have To war with evil? Is there any peace In ever climbing up the climbing wave? All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave In silence; ripen, fall and cease: Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.

Alfred Tennyson

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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.

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Native Name: Alfred Tennyson, 1. Baron Tennyson

Alternative Names: Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron Tennyson • Lord Alfred Tennyson • Alcibiades • A. Tennyson • Alfred Tennyson, Baron Tennyson • Alfred Tennyson Tennyson • Tennyson • 1st Baron Tennyson of Aldworth and Freshwater Alfred Tennyson • Alfred Tennyson d'Eyncourt • Lord Tennyson Alfred • Alfred Lord Tennyson • Alfred, Lord Tennyson • Alfred (Lord)

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Hateful is the dark-blue sky,
Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea.
Death is the end of life; ah, why
Should life all labour be?

All things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful past

Originators like Alfred Tennyson:

William Butler Yeats Lord Byron Percy Bysshe Shelley Samuel Taylor Coleridge Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Additional quotes by Alfred Tennyson

Come, my friends
Tis not too late to seek a newer world
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die

The year is dying in the night.

But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Death is the end of life; ah, why Should life all labour be? Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, And in a little while our lips are dumb. Let us … - Alfred Tennyson

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