Related:

• And from his ashes may be made The violet of his native land.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xviii, Stanza 1...
• I do but sing because I must, And pipe but as the linnets sing.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xxi, 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...
• 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...
• Her eyes are homes of silent prayer.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xxxii, Stanza 1...
• Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, liv, Stanza 1...
• Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky!
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, cv, Stanza 1...
• The shadow cloak'd from head to foot.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xxiii, Stanza 1...
• Who battled for the True, the Just. -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, lvi, Stanza 5