These Little Songs by William Allingham

These little Songs,

Found here and there, 

Floating in air 

By forest and lea, 

Or hill-side heather, 

In houses and throngs, 

Or down by the sea - 

Have come together, 

How, I can't tell: 

But I know full well 

No witty goose-wing 

On an inkstand begot 'em; 

Remember each place 

And moment of grace, 

In summer or spring, 

Winter or autumn 

By sun, moon, stars, 

Or a coal in the bars, 

In market or church, 

Graveyard or dance, 

When they came without search, 

Were found as by chance. 

A word, a line, 

You may say are mine; 

But the best in the songs, 

Whatever it be, 

To you, and to me, 

And to no one belongs.