Politeness costs nothing. Nothing, that is, to him that shows it; but if often costs the world very dear. William Allingham More Quotes by William Allingham More Quotes From 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 skyspringwings Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt. William Allingham autumnfirefall Before a day was over, Home comes the rover, For mother's kiss - sweeter this William Allingham mothers-daykissinghome Writing is learning to say nothing, more cleverly every day. William Allingham writing She danced a jig, she sung a song that took my heart away. William Allingham my-heartheartsong Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way! William Allingham homewayworld 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 autumnappleswinter O Spirit of the Summertime! Bring back the roses to the dells; The swallow from her distant clime, The honey-bee from drowsy cells. Bring back the friendship of the sun; The gilded evenings, calm and late, When merry children homeward run, And peeping stars bid lovers wait. Bring back the singing; and the scent Of meadowlands at dewy prime;- Oh, bring again my heart's content, Thou Spirit of the Summertime! William Allingham starssummerrunning 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 autumnsummerfall Oh, bring again my heart's content, William Allingham spiritsummerheart Solitude is very sad, Too much company twice as bad. William Allingham very-sadtoo-muchsolitude Pluck not the wayside flower; William Allingham plucktravelerflower 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 originalitywritingmight 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 workfeelingsmen The mother's kiss is the sweetest thing ever. William Allingham sweetestkissingmother 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 menbookhands Autumn's the mellow time. William Allingham autumntimeinspiring 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 pardon-mefoemen I believe in Success, William Allingham i-believecomfortbelieve Yet dearer still that Irish hill than all the world beside; William Allingham landhomesweet
