Related:

• He seems so near, and yet so far. -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xcvii, Stanza 6
• So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, lv, Stanza 2...
• 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...
• And from his ashes may be made The violet of his native land.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xviii, Stanza 1...
• Her eyes are homes of silent prayer.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xxxii, Stanza 1...
• The shadow cloak'd from head to foot.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xxiii, Stanza 1...
• 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...
• I do but sing because I must, And pipe but as the linnets sing.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xxi, Stanza 6...