Lord Alfred Tennyson

This is truth the poet sings,
That a sorrow's crown of sorrows is remembering happier things.

This is truth the poet sings,
That a sorrow's crown of sorrows is remembering happier things.

'Tis gone: a thousand such have slipt
Away from my embraces:
And fallen into the dusty crypt
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'Tis gone: a thousand such have slipt
Away from my embraces:
And fallen into the dusty crypt
Of darken'd forms and faces.

The bearing and the training of a child
Is woman's wisdom.

The bearing and the training of a child
Is woman's wisdom.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the read more

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Better not to be at all
Than not to be noble.

Better not to be at all
Than not to be noble.