Showing posts with label William Allingham. Show all posts
Showing posts with label William Allingham. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Classic Poetry: The Fairies (William Allingham, 1824? - 1889)--Updated Version

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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.
Down along the rocky shore
---Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
---Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
---Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
---All night awake.

"He's nigh lost his wits."
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High on the hill-top
---The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
---He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
---Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
---From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music,
---On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen,
---Of the gay Northern Lights.

"Her friends were all gone./They took her lightly back."
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They stole little Bridget
---For seven years long;
When she came down again
---Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back
---Between the night and morrow;
They thought she was fast asleep,
---But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
---Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag leaves,
---Watching till she wake.

"He shall find the thornies set/In his bed at night."
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By the craggy hill-side,
---Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn trees
---For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring
---As dig them up in spite?
He shall find the thornies set
---In his bed at night.

"We daren't go a-hunting."
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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.
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Spore Demon Fairy




PikminGeneral

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Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Classic Poetry: Robin Redbreast (William Allingham, 1824-1889)

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Robin Redbreast
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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,
--And scarlet breast-knot gay.
----Robin, Robin Redbreast,
------O Robin dear!
----Robin sings so 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 what will this poor Robin do?
------For pinching days are near.

The fireside for the cricket,
--The wheat-stack 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.

--From Flower Pieces and other poems (London: Reeves and Turner, 1888).

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