The slow sweet hours that bring us all things good, The slow sad hours that bring us all things ill, And all good things from evil, brought the night… - Alfred Tennyson

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Engraved portrait of Alfred Tennyson, facing right

The slow sweet hours that bring us all things good, The slow sad hours that bring us all things ill, And all good things from evil, brought the night In which we sat together and alone, And to the want, that hollow'd all the heart, Gave utterance by the yearning of an eye, That burn'd upon its object thro' such tears As flow but once a life. The trance gave way To those caresses, when a hundred times In that last kiss, which never was the last, Farewell, like endless welcome, lived and died.

English
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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 · Portrait adapted from Wikimedia Commons, Julia Margaret Cameron / Adam Cuerden (Public domain / CC0)

Also Known As

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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Additional quotes by Alfred Tennyson

Love may come, and love may go,
And fly, like a bird, from tree to tree:
But I will love no more, no more,
Till Ellen Adair come back to me.
Bitterly wept I over the stone:
Bitterly weeping I turn'd away;
There lies the body of Ellen Adair!
And there the heart of Edward Gray!

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If all your office had to do
With old results that look like new;
If this were all your mission here,

To draw, to sheathe a useless sword,
To fool the crowd with glorious lies,
To cleave a creed in sects and cries,
To change the bearing of a word,

To shift an arbitrary power,
To cramp the student at his desk,
To make old barreness picturesque
And tuft with grass a feudal tower;

Why then my scorn might well descend
On you and yours.

Verse CXXVII

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