So many worlds, so much to do,
So little done, such things to be.
-- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
-- In Memoriam, lxxiii, Stanza 1
So little done, such things to be.
-- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
-- In Memoriam, lxxiii, Stanza 1
Related:
- He seems so near, and yet so far.
-- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
-
In Memoriam, xcvii, Stanza... - So careful of the type she seems,
So careless of the single life.
Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, lv, Stanza... - Oh yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill.
Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, liv, Stanza... - Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky!
-- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
-
In Memoriam, cv, Stanza... - And from his ashes may be made
The violet of his native land.
Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xviii... - Her eyes are homes of silent prayer.
-- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
-
In Memoriam, xxxii, Stanza... - The shadow cloak'd from head to foot.
-- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
-
In Memoriam, xxiii, Stanza... - 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... - I do but sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing.
Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xxi, Stanza...
