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Best Famous William Allingham Poems


Here is a collection of the all-time best famous William Allingham poems. This is a select list of the best famous William Allingham poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous William Allingham poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of william allingham poems.

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by William Allingham |

On a Forenoon of Spring

 I'm glad I am alive, to see and feel 
The full deliciousness of this bright day, 
That's like a heart with nothing to conceal; 
The young leaves scarcely trembling; the blue-grey 
Rimming the cloudless ether far away; 
Brairds, hedges, shadows; mountains that reveal 
Soft sapphire; this great floor of polished steel 
Spread out amidst the landmarks of the bay. 

I stoop in sunshine to our circling net 
From the black gunwale; tend these milky kine 
Up their rough path; sit by yon cottage-door 
Plying the diligent thread; take wings and soar-- 
O hark how with the season's laureate 
Joy culminates in song! If such a song were mine!


by William Allingham |

An Evening

 A sunset's mounded cloud; 
A diamond evening-star; 
Sad blue hills afar; 
Love in his shroud. 

Scarcely a tear to shed; 
Hardly a word to say; 
The end of a summer day; 
Sweet Love dead.


by William Allingham |

Autumnal Sonnet

 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-hold, 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. 
Dear friends, together in the glimmering eve, 
Pensive and glad, with tones that recognise 
The soft invisible dew in each one's eyes, 
It may be, somewhat thus we shall have leave 
To walk with memory,--when distant lies 
Poor Earth, where we were wont to live and grieve.


by William Allingham |

A Seed

 See how a Seed, which Autumn flung down, 
And through the Winter neglected lay, 
Uncoils two little green leaves and two brown, 
With tiny root taking hold on the clay 
As, lifting and strengthening day by day, 
It pushes red branchless, sprouts new leaves, 
And cell after cell the Power in it weaves 
Out of the storehouse of soil and clime, 
To fashion a Tree in due course of time; 
Tree with rough bark and boughs' expansion, 
Where the Crow can build his mansion, 
Or a Man, in some new May, 
Lie under whispering leaves and say, 
"Are the ills of one's life so very bad 
When a Green Tree makes me deliciously glad?" 
As I do now. But where shall I be 
When this little Seed is a tall green Tree?


by William Allingham |

A Singer

 That which he did not feel, he would not sing; 
What most he felt, religion it was to hide 
In a dumb darkling grotto, where the spring 
Of tremulous tears, arising unespied, 
Became a holy well that durst not glide 
Into the day with moil or murmuring; 
Whereto, as if to some unlawful thing, 
He sto]e, musing or praying at its side. 

But in the sun he sang with cheerful heart, 
Of coloured season and the whirling sphere, 
Warm household habitude and human mirth, 
The whole faith-blooded mystery of earth; 
And I, who had his secret, still could hear 
The grotto's whisper low through every part.


by William Allingham |

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; 
Where the children wade in the shallow pools, 
Or run from the froth in play; 
Where the swift little boats with milk-white wings 
Are crossing the sapphire bay, 
And the ship in full sail, with a fortunate gale, 
Holds proudy on her way; 
Where the nets are spread on the grass to dry, 
And asleep, hard by, the fishermen lie, 
Under the tent of the warm blue sky, 
With the hushing wave on its golden floor 
To sing their lullaby. 

Down on the shore, on the stormy shore! 
Beset by a growling sea, 
Whose mad waves leap on the rocky steep 
Like wolves up a traveller's tree; 
Where the foam flies wide, and an angry blast 
Blows the curlew off, with a screech; 
Where the brown sea-wrack, torn up by the roots, 
Is flung out of fishes' reach; 
And the tall ship rolls on the hidden shoals, 
And scatters her planks on the beach; 
Where slate and straw through the village spin, 
And a cottage fronts the fiercest din 
With a sailor's wife sitting sad within, 
Hearkening the wind and the water's roar, 
Till at last her tears begin.


by William Allingham |

The Little Dell

 Doleful was the land, 
Dull on, every side, 
Neither soft n'or grand, 
Barren, bleak, and wide; 
Nothing look'd with love; 
All was dingy brown; 
The very skies above 
Seem'd to sulk and frown.

Plodding sick and sad, 
Weary day on day; 
Searching, never glad, 
Many a miry way; 
Poor existence lagg'd 
In this barren place; 
While the seasons dragg'd 
Slowly o'er its face. 

Spring, to sky and ground, 
Came before I guess'd; 
Then one day I found 
A valley, like a nest! 
Guarded with a spell 
Sure it must have been, 
This little fairy dell 
Which I had never seen. 

Open to the blue, 
Green banks hemm'd it round 
A rillet wander'd through 
With a tinkling sound; 
Briars among the rocks 
Tangled arbours made; 
Primroses in flocks 
Grew beneath their shade. 

Merry birds a few, 
Creatures wildly tame, 
Perch'd and sung and flew; 
Timid field-mice came; 
Beetles in the moss 
Journey'd here and there; 
Butterflies across 
Danced through sunlit air. 

There I often read, 
Sung alone, or dream'd; 
Blossoms overhead, 
Where the west wind stream'd; 
Small horizon-line, 
Smoothly lifted up, 
Held this world of mine 
In a grassy cup. 

The barren land to-day 
Hears my last adieu: 
Not an hour I stay; 
Earth is wide and new. 
Yet, farewell, farewell! 
May the sun and show'rs 
Bless that Little Dell 
Of safe and tranquil hours!


by William Allingham |

Meadowsweet

 Through grass, through amber'd cornfields, our slow Stream-- 
Fringed with its flags and reeds and rushes tall, 
And Meadowsweet, the chosen of them all 
By wandering children, yellow as the cream 
Of those great cows--winds on as in a dream 
By mill and footbridge, hamlet old and small 
(Red roofs, gray tower), and sees the sunset gleam 
On mullion'd windows of an ivied Hall.

There, once upon a time, the heavy King 
Trod out its perfume from the Meadowsweet, 
Strown like a woman's love beneath his feet, 
In stately dance or jovial banqueting, 
When all was new; and in its wayfaring 
Our Streamlet curved, as now, through grass and wheat.


by William Allingham |

Robin Redbreast

 Good-bye, good-bye to Summer! 
For Summer's nearly done; 
The garden smiling faintly, 
Cool breezes in the sun; 
Our Thrushes now are silent, 
Our Swallows flown away, -- 
But Robin's here, in coat of brown, 
With ruddy breast-knot gay. 
Robin, Robin Redbreast, 
O Robin dear! 
Robin singing sweetly 
In the falling of the year. 

Bright yellow, red, and orange, 
The leaves come down in hosts; 
The trees are Indian Princes, 
But soon they'll turn to Ghosts; 
The scanty pears and apples 
Hang russet on the bough, 
It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, 
'Twill soon be Winter now. 
Robin, Robin Redbreast, 
O Robin dear! 
And welaway! my Robin, 
For pinching times are near. 

The fireside for the Cricket, 
The wheatstack for the Mouse, 
When trembling night-winds whistle 
And moan all round the house; 
The frosty ways like iron, 
The branches plumed with snow, -- 
Alas! in Winter, dead and dark, 
Where can poor Robin go? 
Robin, Robin Redbreast, 
O Robin dear! 
And a crumb of bread for Robin, 
His little heart to cheer.


by William Allingham |

The Boy

 The Boy from his bedroom-window 
Look'd over the little town, 
And away to the bleak black upland 
Under a clouded moon. 

The moon came forth from her cavern, 
He saw the sudden gleam 
Of a tarn in the swarthy moorland; 
Or perhaps the whole was a dream. 

For I never could find that water 
In all my walks and rides: 
Far-off, in the Land of Memory, 
That midnight pool abides. 

Many fine things had I glimpse of, 
And said, "I shall.find them one day."
Whether within or without me 
They were, I cannot say.