Quote

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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William Allingham
Age: 65 †
Born: 1824
Born: March 19
Died: 1889
Died: November 18
Poet
Writer
Days
Indian
Robin
Turns
Trees
Princes
Russet
Poor
Winter
Ghosts
Scanty
Dear
Autumn
Twill
Soon
Apples
Bough
Late
Hang
Pinching
Tree
Ghost
Pears
Turn
Near
Robins

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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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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!.
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Autumn's the mellow time.
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Oh, bring again my heart's content, Thou Spirit of the Summer-time!
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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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She danced a jig, she sung a song that took my heart away.
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Pluck not the wayside flower It is the traveler's dower.
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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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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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Solitude is very sad, Too much company twice as bad.
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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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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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Before a day was over, Home comes the rover, For mother's kiss - sweeter this Than any other thing!
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The mother's kiss is the sweetest thing ever.
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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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One who can see without seeming to see-- That's an observer as good as three.
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Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way!
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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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Writing is learning to say nothing, more cleverly every day.
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