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Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.

William Allingham

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William Allingham
Age: 65 †
Born: 1824
Born: March 19
Died: 1889
Died: November 18
Poet
Writer
Autumn
Slowly
Leaves
Woods
Along
Dead
Fire
Melt
Fall
Burns

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I believe in Success, And in Comfort no less I believe all the rest is but patter.
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Before a day was over, Home comes the rover, For mother's kiss - sweeter this Than any other thing!
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Writing is learning to say nothing, more cleverly every day.
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Winds and waters keepA hush more dead than any sleep.
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Pluck not the wayside flower It is the traveler's dower.
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Solitude is very sad, Too much company twice as bad.
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Ring-ting! I wish I were a primrose, A bright yellow primrose blowing in the spring! The stooping boughs above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to creep across, And the elm-tree for our king!
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The mother's kiss is the sweetest thing ever.
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A man who keeps a diary pays, Due toll to many tedious days But life becomes eventful—then, His busy hand forgets the pen. Most books, indeed, are records less Of fulness than of emptiness.
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Soul's Castle fell at one blast of temptation, But many a worm had pierced the foundation.
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One who can see without seeming to see-- That's an observer as good as three.
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Yet dearer still that Irish hill than all the world beside It's home, sweet home, where'er I roam, through lands and waterswide.
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Bare twigs in April enhance our pleasure We know the good time is yet to come.... Bare twigs in Autumn are signs for sadness We feel the good time is well-nigh past.
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Fairies, arouse! Mix with your song Harplet and pipe, Thrilling and clear, Swarm on the boughs! Chant in a throng! Morning is ripe, Waiting to hear.
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Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods, And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt, And night by night the monitory blast Wails in the key-hole, telling how it pass'd O'er empty fields, or upland solitudes, Or grim wide wave and now the power is felt Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods Than any joy indulgent Summer dealt.
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Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way!
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Autumn's the mellow time.
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Politeness costs nothing. Nothing, that is, to him that shows it but if often costs the world very dear.
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I have been an Official all my life, without the least turn for it. I never could attain a true official manner, which is highly artificial and handles trifles with ludicrously disproportionate gravity.
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If any foes of mine are there, I pardon every one: I hope that man and womankind will do the same by me.
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