The Life and Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson, Volume 12

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Macmillan, 1899
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Page 283 - SUNSET and evening star, And one clear call for me ! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea...
Page 194 - Not of the sunlight, Not of the moonlight, Not of the starlight ! O young Mariner, Down to the haven, Call your companions, Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin, After it, follow it, Follow The Gleam.
Page 283 - And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho...
Page 190 - Mighty the Wizard Who found me at sunrise Sleeping, and woke me And learn'd me Magic ! Great the Master, ,. And sweet the Magic, When over the valley, In early summers, Over the mountain, On human faces, And all around me, Moving to melody, Floated The Gleam.
Page 138 - National hatreds of whole generations, and pigmy spites of the village spire ; Vows that will last to the last death-ruckle, and vows that are snapt in a moment of fire...
Page 205 - I have climb'd to the snows of Age, and I gaze at a field in the Past, Where I sank with the body at times in the sloughs of a low desire, But I hear no yelp of the beast, and the Man is quiet at last As he stands on the heights of his life with a glimpse of a height that is higher.
Page 139 - What is it all, if we all of us end but in being our own corpse-coffins at last? Swallow'd in Vastness, lost in Silence, drown'd in the deeps of a meaningless Past?
Page 193 - But eager to follow, I saw, whenever In passing it glanced upon Hamlet or city, That under the Crosses The dead man's garden, The mortal hillock, Would break into blossom ; And so to the land's Last limit I came And can no longer, But die rejoicing, For thro...
Page 203 - If the lips were touch'd with fire from off a pure Pierian altar, Tho' their music here be mortal need the singer greatly care ? Other songs for other worlds ! the fire within him would not falter ; Let the golden Iliad vanish, Homer here is Homer there.
Page 238 - I dream'd That stone by stone I rear'da sacred fane, A temple, neither Pagod, Mosque, nor Church, But loftier, simpler, always open-door'd To every breath from heaven, and Truth and Peace And Love and Justice came and dwelt therein...

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