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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
Blossoms
Joyous
Spring
Lies
Open
Lying
Book
Writ

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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?
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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.
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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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Solitude is very sad, Too much company twice as bad.
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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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Yet dearer still that Irish hill than all the world beside It's home, sweet home, where'er I roam, through lands and waterswide.
William Allingham
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Winds and waters keepA hush more dead than any sleep.
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Oh, bring again my heart's content, Thou Spirit of the Summer-time!
William Allingham
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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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Scarcely a tear to shed Hardly a word to say The end of a Summer's day Sweet Love is dead.
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Sin we have explain'd away Unluckily, the sinners stay.
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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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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?
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She danced a jig, she sung a song that took my heart away.
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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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Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way!
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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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Writing is learning to say nothing, more cleverly every day.
William Allingham
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Autumn's the mellow time.
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