Quotes About Wind

Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shoreThan labor in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar;Oh rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.

Sweet and low, sweet and low,Wind of the western sea,Low, low, breathe and blow,Wind of the western sea!Over the rolling waters go,Come from the dying moon, and blow,Blow him again to me;While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Heart of my heart, we are one with the wind, One with the clouds that are whirled o'er the lea, One in many, O broken and blind, One as the waves are at one with the sea! Ay! when life seems scattered apart, Darkens, ends as a tale that is told, One, we are one, O heart of my heart, One, still one, while the world grows old.

The dusk rapidly deepened; the glades grew dark; the crackling of the fire and the wash of little waves along the rocky lake shore were the only sounds audible. The wind had dropped with the sun, and in all that vast world of branches nothing stirred. Any moment, it seemed, the woodland gods, who are to be worshipped in silence and loneliness, might stretch their mighty and terrific outlines among the trees.

you look like the spirit of the island, with moss in your hair and wind in your eyes, and sun and stars mixed in your face.

As she spoke there rose from the depths of the house the sound of muffled voices, children's voices singing faintly together; it rose and fell exactly like the wind, and with as little tune; it was weird and magical, but so utterly mournful that the boy felt the tears start to his eyes.

Wind is lord and change is sovereign of the strand.

Oh, to come home to your country After long years away, To see the tall shining towers Rise over the rim of the bay, To feel the west wind steadily blowing And the sunshine golden and hot, To speak to each man as an equal, Whether he is or not.

The secret shape of this book is a parachute all the lines leading to the person hanging there drifting on the wind and always falling waiting for the mists to clear

she felt as if her entire body were glowing with the taste of sunlight, of wind blowing in wide spaces and trees reaching their burdened arms to boundless skies.

He shivered uncontrollably and turned his back on the driving wind. 'Anyway, I wish to God I had his job,' he added feelingly. 'This is worse than winter in Alberta!

The boy who harnessed the wind

Do you hear the music, Mum?" "No, sweetheart. No, I don't hear it." She shook her head. Terror and tears filled her eyes. The wind felt cold, washing over me. "Neither do I.

I don't want to see you caught like a word in that last line. What does the nightingale do when it runs out of things to say? Only this: I have never been so astonished at the love of one woman which is the way the moon finally closes its eye behind a ridge, the way the wind never stays around long enough to see what it has brought.

Now the wind is lifting the eyelid of the lake. I remember my soul breaks open like a seed beneath the ground just to think of you.

Let us get of these indoor narrow modern days, whose twelve hours somehow have become shortened, into the sunlight and the pure wind. A something that the ancients thought divine can be found and felt there still.

As the wind, wandering over the sea, takes from each wave an invisible portion, and brings to those on shore the ethereal essence of ocean, so the air lingering among the woods and hedges—green waves and billows—became full of fine atoms of summer.

I cannot leave it; I must stay under the old tree in the midst of the long grass, the luxury of the leaves, and the song in the very air. I seem as if I could feel all the glowing life the sunshine gives and the south wind calls to being.

It was frightening and wonderful to surrender to the wind's power.

If to be absent were to beAway from thee;Or that when I am gone,You and I were alone;Then, my Lucasta, might I cravePity from blust'ring wind, or swallowing wave.

Someone is digging your grave right now. Someone is drawing a bath to wash you clean, he said, so think of the wind, so happy, so warm. It's a fairy tale, the story underneath the story, sliding down the polished halls, lightning here and gone. We make these ridiculous idols so we can to what's behind them, but what happens after we get up the ladder? Do we simply stare at what's horrible and forgive it?

the sails in wind and the slap of waves on the hull of a boat that's sinking to the sound of mermaids singing songs of love, and the tug of a simple profound sadness when it sounds so far away.

Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du?

Apology" A word sticks in the wind's throat; A wind-launch drifts in the swells of rye; Sometimes, in broad silence, The hanging apples distill their darkness. You, in a green dress, calling, and with brown hair, Who come by the field-path now, whose name I say Softly, forgive me love if I also call you Wind's word, apple-heart, haven of grasses.