The Complete Works of Alfred Tennyson, Poet Laureate

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R. Worthington, 1880 - 456 oldal

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103. oldal - The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife. That Nature lends such evil dreams ? So careful of the type she seems. So careless of the single life ; She often brings but one to bear, That I, considering everywhere Her secret meamng in her deeds, And finding that
53. oldal - Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands ; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might ; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight. And
336. oldal - for me night and wrought by prayer day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the of prayer Both for themselves and those who brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands call them friend ? For so the whole round earth is
32. oldal - Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard-lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound." So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some fullbreasted swan Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood
95. oldal - The city sparkles like a grain of salt. THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. I. HALF a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. '• Forward, the Light Brigade ! Charge for the guns ! " he said : Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. II.
54. oldal - flaring like a dreary dawn ; And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then,* Underneath the light he looks at, in among the throngs of men ; Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new: That which they have done but earnest of the things that they shall
103. oldal - to spring. So runs my dream : hut what am I ? An infant crying in the night : An infant crying for the light : And with no language but a cry. LV. THE wish, that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave, Derives it not from what we
95. oldal - IV. Flash'd all their sabres bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wonder'd : Plunged in the battery-smoke. Right thro' the line they broke ; Cossack and Russian Reel'd from the sabre-stroke Shatter'd and sunder'd. Then they rode back, but not Not the six hundred. v. Cannon
141. oldal - sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. " Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square ; So sad, so strange, the days that are uo more.
103. oldal - That nothing walks with aimless feet ; That no 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

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