“ Up the airy mountain,Down the rushy glen,We daren't go a-huntingFor fear of little men. ”
In youth audacity is wise
~ William Allingham
By the craggy hill-side,Through the mosses bare,They have planted thorn-treesFor pleasure here and there.If any man so daringAs dig them up in spite,He shall find their sharpest thornsIn his bed at night.
Is idleness indeed so black a crime?What are the Busy doing, half their time?
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
