Wishing
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!
Nay—stay!
I wish I were an Elm tree,
A great, lofty Elm tree, with green leaves gay! The winds would set them dancing, The sun and moonshine glance in, The birds would house among the boughs, And sweetly sing.
Oh no!
I wish I were a Robin,
A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go; Through forest, field, or garden, And ask no leave or pardon, Till winter comes with icy thumbs To ruffle up our wing!
Well—tell!
Where should I fly to,
Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell? Before a day was over, Home comes the rover, For mother’s kiss—sweeter this Than any other thing.
William Allingham
Other author posts
The Touchstone
A man there came, whence none could tell, Bearing a Touchstone in his hand; And tested all things in the land By its unerring spell Quick birth of transmutation smote The fair to foul, the foul to fair;
Wayside Flowers
Pluck not the wayside flower, It is the traveller's dower; A thousand passers-by Its beauties may espy, May win a touch of blessing From Nature's mild caressing
Down On The Shore
Down on the shore, on the sunny shore Where the salt smell cheers the land; Where the tide moves bright under boundless light, And the surge on the glittering strand;
In A Spring Grove
Here the white-ray'd anemone is born, Wood-sorrel, and the varnish'd buttercup; And primrose in its purfled green swathed up, Pallid and sweet round every budding thorn,
