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A man who keeps a diary pays, Due toll to many tedious days But life becomes eventfulthen, His busy hand forgets the pen. Most books, indeed, are records less Of fulness than of emptiness.
William Allingham
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William Allingham
Age: 65 †
Born: 1824
Born: March 19
Died: 1889
Died: November 18
Poet
Writer
Many
Becomes
Pens
Fulness
Men
Days
Emptiness
Toll
Life
Hand
Dues
Tolls
Books
Keeps
Diary
Forget
Indeed
Forgets
Less
Busy
Diaries
Hands
Pay
Tedious
Book
Records
Pays
Eventful
More quotes by William Allingham
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
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
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
She danced a jig, she sung a song that took my heart away.
William Allingham
Autumn's the mellow time.
William Allingham
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
Soul's Castle fell at one blast of temptation, But many a worm had pierced the foundation.
William Allingham
Sin we have explain'd away Unluckily, the sinners stay.
William Allingham
Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way!
William Allingham
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
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
Solitude is very sad, Too much company twice as bad.
William Allingham
Pluck not the wayside flower It is the traveler's dower.
William Allingham
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
Before a day was over, Home comes the rover, For mother's kiss - sweeter this Than any other thing!
William Allingham
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
One who can see without seeming to see-- That's an observer as good as three.
William Allingham
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
The mother's kiss is the sweetest thing ever.
William Allingham
Politeness costs nothing. Nothing, that is, to him that shows it but if often costs the world very dear.
William Allingham
