Lord Alfred Tennyson ( 10 of 98 )
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, read more
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
And feet like sunny gems on an English green.
And feet like sunny gems on an English green.
The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at read more
The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear
The warble was low, and full and clear.
Better not to be at all
Than not to be noble.
Better not to be at all
Than not to be noble.
So much to do, so little done, such things to be.
So much to do, so little done, such things to be.
Darker than darkest pansies.
Darker than darkest pansies.
Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go read more
Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go on for ever. - The Brook.
We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke:
"Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we."
read more
We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke:
"Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we."
"They hunt old trails" said Cyril, "very well;
But when did woman ever yet invent?"
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel
force,
Something better than his dog, read more
He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel
force,
Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.
