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Há 5 dias · The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. Blow, bugle; answers, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar. The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Há 3 dias · Till thy dark lord accept and love the Sun, And all the Shadow die into the Light, When thou shalt dwell the whole bright year with me, And souls of men, who grew beyond their race, And made themselves as Gods against the fear Of Death and Hell; and thou that hast from men, As Queen of Death, that worship which is Fear, Henceforth, as having risen from out the dead, Shalt ever send thy life ...
Há 2 dias · Morte D'arthur. So all day long the noise of battle roll'd. Among the mountains by the winter sea; Until King Arthur's table, man by man, Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their Lord, King Arthur: then, because his wound was deep, The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him, Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights, And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,
Há 3 dias · Our Cadmus, out of whom thou art, who found. Beside the springs of Dirce, smote, and still'd. Thro' all its folds the multitudinous beast. The dragon, which our trembling fathers call'd. The God's own son. A tale, that told to me, When but thine age, by age as winter-white. As mine is now, amazed, but made me yearn.
Há 3 dias · And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round, Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits. When merry milkmaids click the latch, And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch.
Há 16 horas · Alfred Lord Tennyson Biography, 1911. by EILeditor · Published June 4, 2024 · Updated November 20, 2023. Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892), English poet, was born at Somersby, Lincolnshire, England, on the 6th of August 1809. He was the fourth of the twelve children of the Reverend George Clayton Tennyson (1778–1831) and his wife ...
Há 4 dias · The Third Of February, 1852. My Lords, we heard you speak: you told us all. That England's honest censure went too far, That our free press should cease to brawl, Not sting the fiery Frenchman into war. It was our ancient privilege, my Lords, To fling whate'er we felt, not fearing, into words. We love not this French God, the child of hell,
