Quote

Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way!

William Allingham

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

William Allingham
Age: 65 †
Born: 1824
Born: March 19
Died: 1889
Died: November 18
Poet
Writer
Sailor
Round
Rounds
Home
Way
World

More quotes by William Allingham

Image
Politeness costs nothing. Nothing, that is, to him that shows it but if often costs the world very dear.
William Allingham
Image
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
Image
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
Image
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
Image
Solitude is very sad, Too much company twice as bad.
William Allingham
Image
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
Image
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
Image
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
Image
If any foes of mine are there, I pardon every one: I hope that man and womankind will do the same by me.
William Allingham
Image
Writing is learning to say nothing, more cleverly every day.
William Allingham
Image
Pluck not the wayside flower It is the traveler's dower.
William Allingham
Image
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.
William Allingham
Image
The mother's kiss is the sweetest thing ever.
William Allingham
Image
Scarcely a tear to shed Hardly a word to say The end of a Summer's day Sweet Love is dead.
William Allingham
Image
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
William Allingham
Image
Autumn's the mellow time.
William Allingham
Image
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!
William Allingham
Image
Sin we have explain'd away Unluckily, the sinners stay.
William Allingham
Image
Winds and waters keepA hush more dead than any sleep.
William Allingham
Image
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