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Tantarrara! the joyous Book of Spring Lies open, writ in blossoms.

William Allingham

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William Allingham
Age: 65 †
Born: 1824
Born: March 19
Died: 1889
Died: November 18
Poet
Writer
Book
Writ
Blossoms
Joyous
Spring
Lies
Open
Lying

More quotes by William Allingham

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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.
William Allingham
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Does not the latent feeling that much of their striving is to no purpose tend to infuse large quantities of sham into men's work?
William Allingham
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Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way!
William Allingham
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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.
William Allingham
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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.
William Allingham
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Sin we have explain'd away Unluckily, the sinners stay.
William Allingham
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History of Ireland--lawlessness and turbulency, robbery and oppression, hatred and revenge, blind selfishness everywhere--no principle, no heroism. What can be done with it?
William Allingham
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She danced a jig, she sung a song that took my heart away.
William Allingham
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The mother's kiss is the sweetest thing ever.
William Allingham
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The trees are Indian Princes, But soon they'll turn to Ghosts The scanty pears and apples Hang russet on the bough Its Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, 'Twill soon be Winter now. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! And what will this poor Robin do? For pinching days are near.
William Allingham
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Politeness costs nothing. Nothing, that is, to him that shows it but if often costs the world very dear.
William Allingham
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Not like Homer would I write, Not like Dante if I might, Not like Shakespeare at his best, Not like Goethe or the rest, Like myself, however small, Like myself, or not at all.
William Allingham
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Writing is learning to say nothing, more cleverly every day.
William Allingham
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Solitude is very sad, Too much company twice as bad.
William Allingham
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Scarcely a tear to shed Hardly a word to say The end of a Summer's day Sweet Love is dead.
William Allingham
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I believe in Success, And in Comfort no less I believe all the rest is but patter.
William Allingham
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One who can see without seeming to see-- That's an observer as good as three.
William Allingham
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Before a day was over, Home comes the rover, For mother's kiss - sweeter this Than any other thing!
William Allingham
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Four ducks on a pond, / A grass-bank beyond, / A blue sky of spring, / White clouds on the wing: / What a little thing / To remember for years - / To remember with tears!.
William Allingham
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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.
William Allingham