Quotes About Bough

May out of the clouds of chance A calm wind blow, a bird be sighted and steer Straight for your bough, and its pursuing love Break in the air, a scarlet target afloat For the strength of your striking arrow; — Philip Larkin, from section III of "Now," The Complete Poems , ed. Archie Burnett (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2012)

The customs and fashions of men change like leaves on the bough, some of which go and others come.

Once out of nature I shall never takeMy bodily form from any natural thing,But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths makeOf hammered gold and gold enamelingTo keep a drowsy Emperor awake;Or set upon a golden bough to singTo lords and ladies of ByzantiumOf what is past, or passing, or to come.

They were so busy in those weeks with their own homebuilding, repairing, rearranging, improvising, that the great storm that was shaking the world passed overhead unnoticed until the crash of a bough set all the hidden roots again vibrating.

winter crescent resting in the high pine bough - you fly through the woods like a lone snow bird...

As an apple reddens on the high bough; high atop the highest bough the apple pickers passed it by—no, not passed it by, but they could not reach it.

I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful When rain bends down the bough; And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted Than you are now.

Love, like a mountain-wind upon an oak, falling upon me, shakes me leaf and bough.

But the owls themselves are not hard to find, silent and on the wing, with their ear tufts flat against their heads as they fly and their huge wings alternately gliding and flapping as they maneuver through the trees. Athena's owl of wisdom and Merlin's companion, Archimedes, were screech owls surely, not this bird with the glassy gaze, restless on the bough, nothing but blood on its mind.

There was always an uncertain promise dangling in the future like a golden fruit hanging from some fantastic bough.

In a Station of the Metro The apparition of these faces in the crowd; Petals on a wet, black bough.

The apparition of these faces in the crowd; Petals on a wet black bough.

My love is a hummingbird sitting that quiet moment on the bough, as the same cat crouches.

Never did tree or grass wave or rustle so ominously. Never did bough creak so mysteriously, and never did the far-away howling

Rock-a-bye baby on the tree top, When the wind blows the cradle will rock, When the bough bends the cradle will fall, Down comes the baby, cradle and all.

But while I fill up my mouth with prayers, they bring no comfort. My words rattle against each other like the last beech leaves on a winter branch, and though a hard wind scours the forest, it cannot free them from the bough; it will not lift them upward into the wide white sky.

Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree top, When the wind blows the cradle will rock; When the bough breaks the cradle will fall; Down will come baby, cradle and all.

Rock-a-bye-baby on the tree top,When the wind blows the cradle will rock,When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enamelling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake; Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come.