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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.

William Allingham

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William Allingham
Age: 65 †
Born: 1824
Born: March 19
Died: 1889
Died: November 18
Poet
Writer
Sweet
Dead
Word
Scarcely
Ends
Tear
Love
Shed
Hardly
Summer
Tears

More quotes by William Allingham

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Autumn's the mellow time.
William Allingham
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One who can see without seeming to see-- That's an observer as good as three.
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She danced a jig, she sung a song that took my heart away.
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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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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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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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The mother's kiss is the sweetest thing ever.
William Allingham
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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.
William Allingham
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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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I believe in Success, And in Comfort no less I believe all the rest is but patter.
William Allingham
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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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Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
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Tantarrara! the joyous Book of Spring Lies open, writ in blossoms.
William Allingham
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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!
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.
William Allingham
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Politeness costs nothing. Nothing, that is, to him that shows it but if often costs the world very dear.
William Allingham
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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.
William Allingham
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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!.
William Allingham
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Winds and waters keepA hush more dead than any sleep.
William Allingham