Lord Alfred Tennyson

'Forward, the Light Brigade!' Was there a man dismayed? Not though the soldier knew Some one had blundered: Their's not to make reply, Their's not to reason why, Their's but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered.

'Sink me the ship, Master Gunner-sink her, split her in twain! Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain!' And the gunner said 'Ay, ay,' but the seamen made reply: 'We have children we have wives, And the Lord hath spared our lives.'

'Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling through the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneeled To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.

A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, With scraps of thundrous epic lilted out By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long, That on the stretched forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever.

A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair.

A land in which it seemed always afternoon.

A land of settled government, A land of just and old renown, Where Freedom slowly broadens down From precedent to precedent.

A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.

A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass, A purer sapphire melts into the sea.

A louse in the locks of literature.

A sight to make an old man young.

A solemn gladness even crowned The purple brows of Olivet.

Ach Tränen, eitle Tränen ohne Grund, ach Tränen, schwermutvoll und hoffnungsbar.

Ah God, for a man with heart, head, hand, Like some of the simple great ones gone For ever and ever by, One still strong man in a blatant land, Whatever they call him, what care I, Aristocrat, democrat, autocrat-one Who can rule and dare not lie.

Ah! when shall all men's good Be each man's rule, and universal peace Lie like a shaft of light across the land?

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more.

Ah, why should life all labor be?

Airy, fairy Lilian.

All experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever as we move.

All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burned like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot.

All night has the casement jessamine stirred To the dancers dancing in tune; Till a silence fell with the waking bird, And a hush with the setting moon.

All that bowery loneliness, The brooks of Eden mazily murmuring.

All the charm of all the Muses often flowering in a lonely word.

All things are taken from us, and become / Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.

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