William Allingham

By the shore, a plot of ground Clips a ruined chapel round, Buttressed with a grassy mound; Where Day and Night and Day go by And bring no touch of human sound
Washing of the lonely seas, Shaking of the guardian trees, Piping of the salted br...

Within a budding grove, In April's ear sang every bird his best, But not a song to pleasure my unrest, Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love; Some spake, methought, with pity, some as if in jest
To every word Of every bird I listen'd, and ...

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,

These little Songs,
Found here and there,
Floating in air By forest and lea,
Or hill-side heather,

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

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...

October - and the skies are cool and gray O'er stubbles emptied of their latest sheaf,
Bare meadow, and the slowly falling leaf
The dignity of woods in rich decay Accords full well with this majestic grief That clothes our solemn purple ...

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

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...

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...

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

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