Quotes About Meadow

Meadow's Waltz...the meadow had becomeher sanctuary of spiritoffering an escape from a painno child should ever endureforeboding clouds began...

I've always liked 'Mist In The Meadow.'

I dreamed of you and a dead dragon, Egg's brother Daeron said to him. A great beast, huge, with wings so large they could cover this meadow. It had fallen on top of you, but you were alive and the dragon was dead. And so he was, poor Baelor. Dreams were a treacherous ground on which to build.

Little things seem nothing, but they give peace, like those meadow flowers which individually seem odorless but all together perfume the air.

That of all the floures in the mede, Thanne love I most these floures white and rede, Suche as men callen daysyes in her toune.

in the group, as the knights preferred stallions—and knelt in the sun-dappled mud and grass of a narrow meadow. Raphael and Percival joined her, kneeling on the other side of the run, two steps back. Mongols at this late stage of their campaign often rode horses other than steppe ponies; war, as Feronantus had observed, was hard on horses, and armies continually replenished their stock. When Mongols rode larger and more complaisant Western horses

the group, as the knights preferred stallions—and knelt in the sun-dappled mud and grass of a narrow meadow. Raphael and Percival joined her, kneeling on the other side of the run, two steps back. Mongols at this late stage of their campaign often rode horses other than steppe ponies; war, as Feronantus had observed, was hard on horses, and armies continually replenished their stock. When Mongols rode larger and more complaisant Western horses

I will not deny, however, that in the course of the journey, he sometimes stopped at the edge of a meadow, at the entrance to a forest, to gather some herb (always the same one, I believe): and he would then chew it with an absorbed look. He kept some of it with him, and ate it in the moments of greatest tension (and we had a number of them at the abbey!).

Night soil oozed onto my cloak, and I wondered why all my adventures involved foul odour. Why could I not for once frolic in a meadow of flowers, or escape in a hamper of fresh laundry? No, I must endure night soil and prison cells and unwashed soldiers…

As a flying seed will debauch a whole meadow with flowers, one kiss, one caress not even wished for, had spoiled her peace of mind, even her good health.

Within and about the Forest of Tantrevalles existed a hundred or more fairy shees, each the castle of a fairy tribe. Thripsey Shee on Madling Meadow, little more than a mile within the precincts of the forest, was ruled by King Throbius and his spouse Queen Bossum. His realm included Madling Meadow and as much of the forest surrounding as was consistent with his dignity. The fairies at Thripsey numbered eighty-six.

How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.

The train ran out into a steep green meadow and Jacob saw striped tulips growing and heard a bird singing, in Italy. There were trees laced together with vines - as Virgil said. Virgil's bees had gone about the plains of Lombardy. It was the custom of the ancients to train vines between elms. Then at Milan there were sharp-winged hawks, of a bright brown, cutting figures over the roofs.

Is it birthday weather for you, dear soul? Is it fine your way, With tall moon-daisies alight, and the mole Busy, and elegant hares at play By meadow paths where once you would stroll In the flush of day?

I Saw A Jolly Hunter I saw a jolly hunter With a jolly gun Walking in the country In the jolly sun. In the jolly meadow Sat a jolly hare. Saw the jolly hunter. Took jolly care. Hunter jolly eager- Sight of jolly prey. Forgot gun pointing Wrong jolly way. Jolly hunter jolly head Over heels gone. Jolly old safety catch Not jolly on. Bang went the jolly gun. Hunter jolly dead. Jolly hare got clean away. Jolly good, I said.

A FLAT, still sandy, still meadowy region… a superb range of ocean beach—miles and miles of it. The bright sun, the sparkling waves, the foam, the view—a sail here and there in the distance. Walt Whitman had written that

Miracle woman ... Your mouth is wine, and all your tender flesh An easeful meadow for my weariness.

What I want, he said softly, is to stand in this meadow and walk in the light of the sun.

Colors of the summer sun illuminate the meadow. Gold, the massed gold of hawkweed; the burnished gold of black-eyed Susans; the delicate, demure gold of stargrass, cousin of the daffodil; and the sun's very rays captured by the field's wild sunflowers.

She was bred in old Kentucky, Where the meadow grass is blue, There's the sunshine of the country, In her face and manner too; She was bred in old Kentucky, Take her boy, you're mighty lucky, When you marry a girl like Sue.

As the tiniest flower in a meadow competes with all the bouquets of your love, I say to you, accept me and our love will grow us into a sun.

Oh, the world needs those standing on the Bridge, For they know how Eternity reaches to earth In the wind that brings music to the leaves Of the forest: in the drops of rain that caress The sleeping life of the desert: in the sunbeams Of the first spring day in an alpine meadow. Only they can blow the dust from the seeing eyes Of those who are blind.

But when I say 'cow', don't go running away with the idea of some decent, self-respecting cudster such as you may observe loading grass into itself in the nearest meadow.

The voice of a donkey braying in the neighbouring meadow seemed like the mocking laughter of demons.