Pale January lay In its cradle day by day Dead or living, hard to say. — Alfred Austin Copy Share Image
Where has thou been all the dumb winter days When neither sunlight was nor smile of flowers, Neither life, nor love, nor frolic, Only expanse melancholic, With never a note of thy exhilarating lays? — Alfred Austin Copy Share Image
The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed not just… — Alfred Austin Copy Share Image
Through the dripping weeks that follow One another slow, and soak Summer's extinguished fire and autumn's drifting smoke. — Alfred Austin Copy Share Image
Falling stars are high examples sent To warn, not lure. Gross fancy says they are Substantial meteors; but that is not so. They are… — Alfred Austin Copy Share Image
Pale January lay In its cradle day by day Dead or living, hard to say. — Alfred Austin Copy Share Image
No verse which is unmusical or obscure can be regarded as poetry whatever other qualities it may possess. — Alfred Austin Copy Share Image
My virgin sense of sound was steeped In the music of young streams; And roses through the casement peeped, And scented all my dreams. — Alfred Austin Copy Share Image
Public opinion is no more than this: what people think that other people think. — Alfred Austin Copy Share Image
Is life worth living? Yes, so long as there is wrong to right. So long as faith with freedom reigns and loyal hope survives,… — Alfred Austin Copy Share Image
