Alfred Austin

The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed…

— Alfred Austin

Through the dripping weeks that follow One another slow, and soak Summer's extinguished fire and autumn's drifting smoke.

— Alfred Austin

Falling stars are high examples sent To warn, not lure. Gross fancy says they are Substantial meteors; but that is not so.…

— Alfred Austin

Pale January lay In its cradle day by day Dead or living, hard to say.

— Alfred Austin

No verse which is unmusical or obscure can be regarded as poetry whatever other qualities it may possess.

— Alfred Austin

Show me your garden and I shall tell you what you are.

— Alfred Austin

He is dead already who doth not feel Life is worth living still.

— Alfred Austin

My virgin sense of sound was steeped In the music of young streams; And roses through the casement peeped, And scented all…

— Alfred Austin

Public opinion is no more than this: what people think that other people think.

— Alfred Austin

Tears are summer showers to the soul.

— Alfred Austin

Is life worth living? Yes, so long as there is wrong to right. So long as faith with freedom reigns and loyal…

— Alfred Austin

Tears are the summer showers to the soul.

— Alfred Austin

Though my verse but roam the air And murmur in the trees, You may discern a purpose there, As in music of…

— Alfred Austin

There is no gardening without humility

— Alfred Austin

Tis true among fields and woods I sing, Aloof from cities--that my poor strains Were born, like the simple flowers you bring,…

— Alfred Austin

From sunny woof and cloudy weft Fell rain in sheets; so, to myself I hummed these hazard rhymes, and left The learned…

— Alfred Austin

Is life worth living? Yes, so long As Spring revives the year, And hails us with the cuckoo's song, To show that…

— Alfred Austin

We come from the earth, we return to the earth, and in between we garden.

— Alfred Austin

A garden that one makes oneself becomes associated with one’s personal history and that of one’s friends, interwoven with one’s tastes, preferences…

— Alfred Austin

Perhaps a maiden's bashfulness is more A matron's lesson than our lips aver.

— Alfred Austin

Faded smiles oft linger in the face, While grief's first flakes fall silent on the heart!

— Alfred Austin

Imagination in poetry, as distinguished from mere fancy is the transfiguring of the real or actual to the ideal.

— Alfred Austin

No one can rightly call his garden his own unless he himself made it.

— Alfred Austin

When held up to the window pane, What fixed my baby stare? The glory of the glittering rain, And newness everywhere.

— Alfred Austin

Where has thou been all the dumb winter days When neither sunlight was nor smile of flowers, Neither life, nor love, nor…

— Alfred Austin