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So Dear A Life Your Arms Enfold, Whose Crying Is A Cry For Gold.
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So dear a life your arms enfold,
Whose crying is a cry for gold.
-- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
-- The Daisy, Stanza 24
Related:
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...
So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life.
-- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, lv, Stanza 2...
O Love! what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine
In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!...
He seems so near, and yet so far. -- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xcvii, Stanza 6
Whose faith has centre everywhere, Nor cares to fix itself to form.
-- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- In Memoriam, xxxiii, 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...
Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold
Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace!...
For now the poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry.
-- Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) -- To ------, after reading a Life and Lette...
None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 24...