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By Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 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.
Poems, by Alfred Tennyson, was a two-volume 1842 collection in which new poems and reworked older ones were printed in separate volumes. It includes some of Tennyson's finest and best-loved poems, [1] [2] such as Mariana, The Lady of Shalott, The Palace of Art, The Lotos Eaters, Ulysses, Locksley Hall, The Two Voices, Sir Galahad, and Break ...
Alfred Lord Tennyson’s ‘Oenone’ narrates the tragic tale of Oenone, deserted by Paris for Helen. The poem vividly captures Oenone’s emotional turmoil, resentment, and heartbreak. Tennyson employs rich imagery, mythological allusions, and melancholic tones to convey the depth of her sorrow. The poem explores themes of love, betrayal, and ...
Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown. For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves.
– Alfred, Lord Tennyson, em “Poemas de Alfred Tennyson”. [selecção, tradução, notação, introdução e organização de Octávio Santos]. Lisboa: Editora Saída de Emergência, 2009. § Querelas literárias Ah, Deus! Os mesquinhos loucos da rima que guincham e suam em guerras de pigmeus perante o empedernido rosto do Tempo
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson. "Mariana in the Moated Grange". (Shakespeare, Measure for Measure) With blackest moss the flower-plots. Were thickly crusted, one and all: The rusted nails fell from the knots. That held the pear to the gable-wall. The broken sheds look'd sad and strange: Unlifted was the clinking latch;
The Brook Alfred Lord Tennyson. I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorpes, a little town, And half a hundred bridges. Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come ...
