These little Songs, <br />Found here and there, <br />Floating in air <br />By forest and lea, <br />Or hill-side heather, <br />In houses and throngs, <br />Or down by the sea - <br />Have come together, <br />How, I can't tell: <br />But I know full well <br />No witty goose-wing <br />On an inkstand begot 'em; <br />Remember each place <br />And moment of grace, <br />In summer or spring, <br />Winter or autumn <br />By sun, moon, stars, <br />Or a coal in the bars, <br />In market or church, <br />Graveyard or dance, <br />When they came without search, <br />Were found as by chance. <br />A word, a line, <br />You may say are mine; <br />But the best in the songs, <br />Whatever it be, <br />To you, and to me, <br />And to no one belongs.<br /><br />William Allingham<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/these-little-songs/
