Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet! Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet; Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.
Lord Alfred Tennyson (1809 - 1892)
Source: To J. S.
Contributed by: Zaady
So dear a life your arms enfold, Whose crying is a cry for gold.
Source: Stanza 24.
Sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees.
Source: Part vii. Line 203.
That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.
Source: Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington. Stanza 4.
The long mechanic pacings to and fro, The set, gray life, and apathetic end.
Source: Love and Duty.
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.
Source: Line 33.
Mastering the lawless science of our law,- That codeless myriad of precedent, That wilderness of single instances.
Source: Aylmer's Field.
Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.
Source: Line 117.
More black than ash-buds in the front of March.
Source: The Gardener's Daughter.
O love! O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul through My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.
Source: Fatima. Stanza 3.
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