Quote

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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William Allingham
Age: 65 †
Born: 1824
Born: March 19
Died: 1889
Died: November 18
Poet
Writer
Four
Grass
White
Clouds
Remember
Wings
Littles
Sky
Pond
Little
Blue
Ponds
Thing
Spring
Ducks
Years
Tears
Wing
Beyond
Bank

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Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way!
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Sin we have explain'd away Unluckily, the sinners stay.
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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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Winds and waters keepA hush more dead than any sleep.
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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.
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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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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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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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Soul's Castle fell at one blast of temptation, But many a worm had pierced the foundation.
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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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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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Oh, bring again my heart's content, Thou Spirit of the Summer-time!
William Allingham
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Pluck not the wayside flower It is the traveler's dower.
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Writing is learning to say nothing, more cleverly every day.
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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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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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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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Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
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Autumn's the mellow time.
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I believe in Success, And in Comfort no less I believe all the rest is but patter.
William Allingham