Related:

• He seems so near, and yet so far. -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xcvii, Stanza 6
• But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light, And with no language but a cry.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, liv, Stanza 5...
• I held it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, i, Stanza 1...
• That jewell'd mass of millinery, That oil'd and curl'd Assyrian Bull.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- Maud, Part i, Sect. vi, Stanza 6...
• So many worlds, so much to do, So little done, such things to be.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, lxxiii, Stanza 1...
• And thus he bore without abuse The grand old name of gentleman, Defamed by every charlatan, And soil'd with all ignoble use.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, cxi, Stanza 6...
• I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow mo
  'T is better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all....
• And from his ashes may be made The violet of his native land.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xviii, Stanza 1...
• And topples round the dreary west A looming bastion fringed with fire.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xv, Stanza 5...