Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809–92)

Alle digte af Alfred Lord Tennyson på Kalliope ordnet alfabetisk efter titel.

A

Again at Christmas did we weave

A happy lover who has come

And all is well, tho’ faith and form

And was the day of my delight

As sometimes in a dead man’s face

B

Balin and Balan

Be near me when my light is low

Break, break, break

By night we linger’d on the lawn

C

Calm is the morn without a sound

Contemplate all this work of Time

Could I have said while he was here

Could we forget the widow’d hour

Crossing the Bar

D

Dark house, by which once more I stand

Dear friend, far off, my lost desire

Dip down upon the northern shore

Doors, where my heart was used to beat

Dost thou look back on what hath been

Do we indeed desire the dead

E

F

Fair ship, that from the Italian shore

From art, from nature, from the schools

G

Gareth and Lynette

Geraint and Enid

H

Heart-affluence in discursive talk

He past; a soul of nobler tone

Her eyes are homes of silent prayer

He tasted love with half his mind

High wisdom holds my wisdom less

How fares it with the happy dead?

How many a father have I seen

How pure at heart and sound in head

L

Lancelot and Elaine

Lo, as a dove when up she springs

Love is and was my Lord and King

M

Merlin and Vivien

More than my brothers are to me

My love has talk’d with rocks and trees

My own dim life should teach me this

N

Now fades the last long streak of snow

Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal

Now, sometimes in my sorrow shut

O

O days and hours, your work is this

Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington

Oenone, or the Choice of Paris

Oh, wast thou with me, dearest, then

Oh yet we trust that somehow good

Old warder of these buried bones

Old Yew, which graspest at the stones

O living will that shalt endure

One writes, that „Other friends remain,“

On that last night before we went

O Sorrow, cruel fellowship

O Sorrow, wilt thou live with me

O Swallow, Swallow

O thou that after toil and storm

P

Peace; come away: the song of woe

Pelleas and Ettarre

R

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky

Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again [Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again]

Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again [Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again]

S

Sad Hesper o’er the buried sun

Sleep, kinsman thou to death and trance

So careful of the type? but no

So many worlds, so much to do

St. Agnes’ Eve

Still onward winds the dreary way

Sweet after showers, ambrosial air

Sweet soul, do with me as thou wilt

T

Take wings of fancy, and ascend

Tears, idle tears

Tears of the widower, when he sees

That each, who seems a separate whole

That which we dare invoke to bless

The baby new to earth and sky

The Charge of the Light Brigade

The churl in spirit, up or down

The Coming of Arthur

The Danube to the Severn gave

The Death Of The Old Year

The Lady of Shallot

The Last Tournament

The lesser griefs that may be said

The Lotos-eaters

The love that rose on stronger wings

The Marriage of Geraint

The Miller’s Daughter

The Northern Cobbler

The Passing of Arthur

The path by which we twain did go

There rolls the deep where grew the tree

The time draws near the birth of Christ [The time draws near the birth of Christ]

The time draws near the birth of Christ [The time draws near the birth of Christ]

The wish, that of the living whole

This truth came borne with bier and pall

Tho’ if an eye that’s downward cast

Tho’ truths in manhood darkly join

Thou comest, much wept for: such a breeze

Thy converse drew us with delight

Thy spirit ere our fatal loss

Thy voice is on the rolling air

Tis held that sorrow makes us wise

Tis well; ’tis something; we may stand

To E. Fitzgerald

To-night the winds begin to rise

To-night ungather’d let us leave

To Sleep I give my powers away

U

Unwatch’d, the garden bough shall sway

Urania speaks with darken’d brow

W

We leave the well-beloved place

We ranging down this lower track

Whatever I have said or sung

What hope is here for modern rhyme

What words are these have fall’n from me?

When I contemplate all alone

When in the down I sink my head

When Lazarus left his charnel-cave

When on my bed the moonlight falls

When rosy plumelets tuft the larch

Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail

Wild bird, whose warble, liquid sweet

Witch-elms that counterchange the floor

With such compelling cause to grieve

With trembling fingers did we weave

With weary steps I loiter on

Y

Yet if some voice that man could trust

Yet pity for a horse o’er-driven

You leave us: you will see the Rhine

You say, but with no touch of scorn

You thought my heart too far diseased