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• 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...
• He seems so near, and yet so far. -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xcvii, Stanza 6
• 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...
• 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...
• So many worlds, so much to do, So little done, such things to be.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, lxxiii, Stanza 1...
• Whose faith has centre everywhere, Nor cares to fix itself to form.
  -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xxxiii, 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...