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

William Allingham

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By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
If any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.

William Allingham

Mots clés poetry

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Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men.

William Allingham

Mots clés poetry

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