William Allingham

Is always Age severe
Is never Youth austere
Spring-fruits are sour to eat; Autumn's the mellow time
Nay, very late in the year, Short day and frosty rime, Thought, like a winter pear, Stone-cold in summer's prime, May turn from hars...

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

Ring-Ting
I wish I were a Primrose,
A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring
The stooping boughs above me,

The Abbot of Innisfallen awoke ere dawn of day; Under the dewy green leaves went he forth to pray
The lake around his island lay smooth and dark and deep, And wrapt in a misty stillness the mountains were all asleep
Low kneel'd the Abbot...

In early morning twilight, raw and chill,
Damp vapours brooding on the barren hill,
Through miles of mire in steady grave array Threescore well-arm'd police pursue their way;
Each tall and bearded man a rifle swings,

See the pretty planet
Floating sphere
Faintest breeze will fan it Far or near; World as light as feather; Moonshine rays, Rainbow tints together, As it plays
Drooping, sinking, failing, Nigh to earth, Mounting, whirling, sailing, Fu...

Up the airy mountain,  Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting   For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,   Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,   And white owl’s feather