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Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood; That nothi… - Alfred Tennyson
" "Oh yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;
That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroy'd,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;
That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shrivell'd in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another's gain.
Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last — far off — at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.
So runs my dream: but what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.
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
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
My own dim life should teach me this,
That life shall live for evermore,
Else earth is darkness at the core,
And dust and ashes all that is;
This round of green, this orb of flame,
Fantastic beauty such as lurks
In some wild Poet, when he works
Without a conscience or an aim.
What then were God to such as I?
'Twere hardly worth my while to choose
Of things all mortal, or to use
A tattle patience ere I die;
'Twere best at once to sink to peace,
Like birds the charming serpent draws,
To drop head-foremost in the jaws
Of vacant darkness and to cease.
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