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When held up to the window pane, What fixed my baby stare? The glory of the glittering rain, And newness everywhere.

Alfred Austin

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Alfred Austin
Age: 78 †
Born: 1835
Born: May 30
Died: 1913
Died: June 2
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Held
Everywhere
Rain
Pane
Window
Glittering
Glory
Newness
Baby
Stare
Staring
Fixed

More quotes by Alfred Austin

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Falling stars are high examples sent To warn, not lure. Gross fancy says they are Substantial meteors but that is not so. They are the merest phantasies of Night, When she's asleep, and, dimly visited By past effects, she dreams of Lucifer Hurled out of Heaven.
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Life seems like a haunted wood, where we tremble and crouch and cry.
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Exclusiveness in a garden is a mistake as great as it is in society.
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No verse which is unmusical or obscure can be regarded as poetry whatever other qualities it may possess.
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The bright incarnate spirit of the Morn.
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In my song you catch at times Note sweeter far than mine, And in the tangle of my rhymes Can scent the eglantine.
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Faded smiles oft linger in the face, While grief's first flakes fall silent on the heart!
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Public opinion is no more than this: what people think that other people think.
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Alfred Austin said, Show me your garden and I shall tell you what you are.
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Thought, stumbling, plods Past fallen temples, vanished gods, Altars unincensed, fanes undecked, Eternal systems flown or wrecked Through trackless centuries that grant To the poor trudge refreshment scant, Age after age, pants on to find A melting mirage of the mind.
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Tears are summer showers to the soul.
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No one can rightly call his garden his own unless he himself made it.
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Though my verse but roam the air And murmur in the trees, You may discern a purpose there, As in music of the bees.
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There is no gardening without humility. Nature is constantly sending even its oldest scholars to the bottom of the class for some egregious blunder.
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From sunny woof and cloudy weft Fell rain in sheets so, to myself I hummed these hazard rhymes, and left The learned volume on the shelf.
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Pale January lay In its cradle day by day Dead or living, hard to say.
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So, timely you came, and well you chose, You came when most needed, my winter rose. From the snow I pluck you, and fondly press Your leaves 'twixt the leaves of my leaflessness.
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Is life worth living? Yes, so long as there is wrong to right. So long as faith with freedom reigns and loyal hope survives, And gracious charity remains to leaven lowly lives While there is only one untrodden tract for intellect or will, And men are free to think and act, Life is worth living still.
Alfred Austin
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Have you never, when waves were breaking, watched children at sport on the beach, With their little feet tempting the foam-fringe, till with stronger and further reach Than they dreamed of, a billow comes bursting, how they turn and scamper and screech!
Alfred Austin
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Imagination in poetry, as distinguished from mere fancy is the transfiguring of the real or actual to the ideal.
Alfred Austin