Autumn's the mellow time..

Before a day was over, Home comes the rover, ….

Yet dearer still that Irish hill than all the world beside; It's home, sweet home, where'er I roam, through lands and waterswide..

One who can see without seeming to see-- That's an observer as good as three..

She danced a jig, she sung a song that took my heart away..

History of Ireland--lawlessness and turbulency, robbery and oppression, hatred and revenge, blind selfishness everywhere--no principle, no heroism. W….

If any foes of mine are there, I pardon every one: I hope that man and womankind will do the same by me..

Politeness costs nothing. Nothing, that is, to him that shows it; but if often costs the world very dear..

The trees are Indian Princes, But soon they'll turn to Ghosts; The scanty pears and apples Hang russet on the bough; Its Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,….

Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way!.

Writing is learning to say nothing, more cleverly every day..

O Spirit of the Summertime! Bring back the roses to the dells; The swallow from her distant clime, The honey-bee from drowsy cells. Bring back th….

Four ducks on a pond, / A grass-bank beyond, / A blue sky of spring, / White clouds on the wing: / What a little thing / To remember for years - / To….

Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt..

Solitude is very sad, Too much company twice as bad..

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-….

I always get back to the question, is it really necessary that men should consume so much of their bodily and mental energies in the machinery of civ….

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 ….

Pluck not the wayside flower; It is the traveler's dower..

Oh, bring again my heart's content, Thou Spirit of the Summer-time!.

Not like Homer would I write, Not like Dante if I might, Not like Shakespeare at his best, Not like Goethe or the rest, Like myself, however small, L….