Alfred Lord Tennyson Poems

  • 101.  
    Where is one that, born of woman, altogether can escape
    From the lower world within him, moods of tiger, or of ape? Man as yet is being made, and ere the crowning Age of ages,
  • 102.  
    So Hector spake; and Trojans roar'd applause;
    Then loosed their sweating horses from the yoke, And each beside his chariot bound his own;
  • 103.  
    I wish I were as in the years of old
    While yet the blessed daylight made itself Ruddy thro' both the roofs of sight, and woke
  • 104.  
    You make our faults too gross, and thence maintain
    Our darker future. May your fears be vain! At times the small black fly upon the pane
  • 105.  
    John. I'm glad I walk'd. How fresh the meadows look
    Above the river, and, but a month ago, The whole hill-side was redder than a fox.
  • 106.  
    I.
    O sweet pale Margaret, O rare pale Margaret,
  • 107.  
    I.
    Why wail you, pretty plover? and what is it that you fear? Is he sick your mate like mine? have you lost him, is he fled?
  • 108.  
    Miriam (singing).
    Mellow moon of heaven. Bright in blue,
  • 109.  
    'Ouse-keeper sent tha my lass, fur New Squire coom'd last night.
    Butter an' heggs--yis--yis. I'll goä wi' tha back: all right; Butter I warrants be prime, an' I warrants the heggs be as well,
  • 110.  
    Not here! the white North has thy bones; and thou,
    Heroic sailor-soul, Art passing on thine happier voyage now
  • 111.  
    NAÄY, noä mander (2) o' use to be callin' 'im Roä, Roä, Roä,
    Fur the dog's stoän-deaf, an' e's blind, 'e can naither Stan' nor goä.
  • 112.  
    'BEAT, little heart--I give you this and this'
    Who are you? What! the Lady Hamilton? Good, I am never weary painting you.
  • 113.  
    They have left the doors ajar; and by their clash,
    And prelude on the keys, I know the song, Their favourite--which I call 'The Tables Turned.'
  • 114.  
    Of love that never found his earthly close,
    What sequel? Streaming eyes and breaking hearts? Or all the same as if he had not been?
  • 115.  
    Here, it is here, the close of the year,
    And with it a spiteful letter. My name in song has done him much wrong,
  • 116.  
    PROLOGUE
    O Lady Flora, let me speak:
  • 117.  
    The son of him with whom we strove for power--
    Whose will is lord thro' all his world-domain-- Who made the serf a man, and burst his chain--
  • 118.  
    Now first we stand and understand,
    And sunder false from true, And handle boldly with the hand,
  • 119.  
    I.
    When from the terrors of Nature a people have fashion'd and worship a Spirit of Evil, Blest he the Voice of the Teacher who calls to them
  • 120.  
    I.
    Eh? good daäy! good daäy! thaw it beän't not mooch of a daäy, Nasty, casselty (1) weather! an' mea Haäfe down wi' my haäy! (2)
  • 121.  
    Brooks, for they call'd you so that knew you best,
    Old Brooks, who loved so well to mouth my rhymes, How oft we two have heard St. Mary's chimes!
  • 122.  
    Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
    Thou art low! thou mighty one, How is the brilliance of thy diadem,
  • 123.  
    To Sir Walter Scott...

  • 124.  
    I.
    O young Mariner, You from the haven
  • 125.  
    Sea-kings' daughter from over the sea, Alexandra!
    Saxon and Norman and Dane are we, But all of us Danes in our welcome of thee, Alexandra!
  • 126.  
    Dear Master in our classic town,
    You, loved by all the younger gown There at Balliol,
  • 127.  
    When the dumb Hour, clothed in black,
    Brings the Dreams about my bed, Call me not so often back,
  • 128.  
    O you that were eyes and light to the King till he past away
    From the darkness of life-- He saw not his daughter--he blest her: the blind King sees you to-day,
  • 129.  
    I.
    I WAS the chief of the race--he had stricken my father dead-- But I gather'd my fellows together, I swore I would strike off his head.
  • 130.  
    The poet in a golden clime was born,
    With golden stars above; Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn,
  • 131.  
    Well, you shall have that song which Leonard wrote:
    It was last summer on a tour in Wales: Old James was with me: we that day had been
  • 132.  
    O plump head-waiter at The Cock,
    To which I most resort, How goes the time? 'Tis five o'clock.
  • 133.  
    Soft, shadowy moon-beam! by the light
    Sleeps the wide meer serenely pale: How various are the sounds of night,
  • 134.  
    You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
    To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year; Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day,
  • 135.  
    AFTER READING A LIFE AND LETTERS

  • 136.  
    I.
    The voice and the Peak
  • 137.  
    I.
    The plain was grassy, wild and bare,
  • 138.  
    O love, what hours were thine and mine,
    In lands of palm and southern pine; In lands of palm, of orange-blossom,
  • 139.  
    I.
    Dead!
  • 140.  
    I knew an old wife lean and poor,
    Her rags scarce held together; There strode a stranger to the door,
  • 141.  
    Golden-hair'd Ally whose name is one with mine,
    Crazy with laughter and babble and earth's new wine, Now that the flower of a year and a half is thine,
  • 142.  
    O Patriot Statesman, be thou wise to know
    The limits of resistance, and the bounds Determining concession; still be bold
  • 143.  
    I.
    'Spring-flowers'! While you still delay to take
  • 144.  
    I.
    At times our Britain cannot rest,
  • 145.  
    The wind, that beats the mountain, blows
    More softly round the open wold, And gently comes the world to those
  • 146.  
    Two Suns of Love make day of human life,
    Which else with all its pains, and griefs, and deaths, Were utter darkness--one, the Sun of dawn
  • 147.  
    Illyrian woodlands, echoing falls
    Of water, sheets of summer glass, The long divine Peneïan pass,
  • 148.  
    January, 1854

  • 149.  
    I.
    Ulysses, much-experienced man,
  • 150.  
    Victor in Drama, Victor in Romance,
    Cloud-weaver of phantasmal hopes and fears, French of the French, and Lord of human tears;
Total 544 poems written by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Poem of the day

Evening Angelus
 by Joyce Sutphen

I have forgotten the words,
and therefore I shall not conceive
of a mysterious salvation, I shall
not become a tall lily and bloom
into blue and white. Then what
oracular event shall appear on
my doorstep? What announcement
shall crowd me to a corner,
...

Read complete poem

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