Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Eglow. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Eglow Quotes And Sayings by 95 Authors including Dogen,John Townsend Trowbridge,Epes Sargent,Hafez,Laura A. Lord for you to enjoy and share.
To what shall
I liken the world?
Moonlight, reflected
In dewdrops,
Shaken from a crane's bill.
On turf and curb and bower-roof
The snow-storm spreads its ivory woof;
It paves with pearl the garden-walk;
And lovingly around the tatter'd stalk
And snivering stem its magic weaves
A mantle fair as lily-leaves.
The cold blast at the casement beats;The window-panes are white;The snow whirls through the empty streets;It is a dreary night!
Let tenderness pour from your eyes, the way sun gazes warmly on earth.
There's a lamentation in the flutter of your lash.
I wander forth this chill December dawn: John Frost and all his elves are out, I see, As busy as the elfin world can be, Clothing a world asleep with fleecy lawn.
The coldest word was once a glowing new metaphor.
The sun was set; the night came on apace, And falling dews bewet around the place; The bat takes airy rounds on leathern wings, And the hoarse owl his woeful dirges sings.
I spill my bright incalculable soul
The skybr>Scorched by the sun,br>Weepsbr>Fecund tears.
Snowflakes fall from high.
Flurries lift and twirl below.
The world has turned white.
Scatter as a prayer
escaping my lips...
as orchids
blooming in clouds.
O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights, What is 't ye do? what life lead? eh, dull goggles? How do ye vary your vile days and nights? How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles In ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes and bites, And drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles.
Oh how the candles will be lit and the wood of worm burn in a fiery dust. For on all Hallow's Eve will the spirits come to play, and only the fruit of thy womb will satisfy their endless roaming.
Cold winds blow and thick ice forms, I conjure up this fairy storm. To seven corners of the human world the Rainbow Fairies will be hurled! I curse every part of Fairyland, with a frosty wave of my icy hand. For now and always, from this day, Fairyland will be cold and gray!
Through her, in microcosm, the wide earth sobbed. The starglobe sank in her; the colours faded. The death-dew rose and the wild birds in her breast climbed to her throat and gathered songless, hovering, all tumult, wing to wing, so ardent for those climes where all things end.
O Earth, so full of dreary noises!
O men, with wailing in your voices!
O delved gold, the wader's heap!
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
God makes a silence through you all,
And giveth His beloved, sleep.
The approach of night The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.
(hot, opalescent, thick tears that poets and lovers shed) ...
Then the heart of Eowyn changed, or else at last she understood it. And suddenly her winter past, and the sun shone on her.
The hiss was now becoming a roar - the whole world was a vast moving screen of snow - but even now it said peace, it said remoteness, it said cold, it said sleep.
BLARGLE SLORG NOTH HARGHLE FTHAGN! You know. The usual.
Praise
the invisible sun burning beyond
the white cold sky, giving us
light and the chimney's shadow.
Winter crescent resting in the high pine bough - you fly through the woods like a lone snow bird ...
Some words live in my throat
breeding like adders. Others know sun
seeking like gypsies over my tongue
to explode through my lips
A Waft of Cheese
Creu Gwir fel gwydr o ffwrnais awen Creating truth like glass from the furnace of inspiration
Sunlight of love on your lips;
& the Nightingale has fallen into silence.
A pure crystal stream sprang laughing in the midst of desolation......
Evanescent like ice that is melting away;
I fink it is a femuw. A femuw of a winowcowus ... A a-stinct winocowus.
If you should ever be blessed to be far enough from the cacophony of civilization when a heavy snow falls, you can even hear the very music of the iced dew's delicate descent. It is the repainting of a landscape in a thousand hues of white. It is the dance of the wind.
The dew-bead Gem of earth and sky begotten.
For a breathtaking moment;
I spoke the language of the fleeing leaves
When the sky is shrouded in darkness
Of incoming Ravens in black plumage.
Today on the way home, it snows. Big, soft caressing flakes fall onto our skin like cold moths; the air fills with feathers.
In snow thou comest
Thou shalt go with resuming ground
The sweet derision of thx crow
And Glee's advancing sound
In Silence there is eloquence.
this "gawky, stammering adventurer.
[L]et light Rise from the chambers of the east, and bring The honey'd dew that cometh on waking day. O radiant morning ...
A text from Fable and it says one word. Marshmallow
Snow is bruised lilac in half light: such pure solace.
As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.
The hooting of the owl with its tender wing is more familiar to me than the crowing of the cock. I prefer the strings to the woodwinds. Intermission: that is the darkness. The light feels like a vague scratching; it is malaise rather than pain. I am glad to sink back into darkness.
The tears dissolve the last block of ice in my throat. I feel the frozen stillness melt down through the inside of me, dripping shards of ice that vanish in a puddle of sunlight on the stained floor. Words float up
Me: "Let me tell you about it.
Where has thou been all the dumb winter days When neither sunlight was nor smile of flowers, Neither life, nor love, nor frolic, Only expanse melancholic, With never a note of thy exhilarating lays?
Then, as a single snowflake flares and flickers upon voicing its final breath, so two eyes make silent conversation with mine. A face as iridescent as candle-fire purls verse and poetry. My eyes read her every intent as a wave of recollections floods my senses.
A faint blush melting through the light of thy transparent cheek like a rose-leaf bathed in dew.
Over the land freckled with snow half-thawed
The speculating rooks at their nests cawed
And saw from elm tops, delicate as flower of grass,
What we below could not see, Winter pass.
O frost bitten blossoms, That are unfolding your wings From out the envious black branches. Bloom quickly and make much of the sunshine. The twigs conspire against you! Hear hem! They hold you from behind.
Dust Glitter Rain
I slept and saw God's forge in frost. Its hearth was quelled, and as it cooled so swooned the verdancy it kept above. In slumber it grew a thick winter skin, white as bedsheets. In their folds the waker dreamt, her breath as steam, her touch as hot as iron, forgotten in the fire.
Solitary converse with nature; for thence are ejaculated sweet and dreadful words never uttered in libraries. Ah! the spring days, the summer dawns, and October woods!
Nosegays! leave them for the waking,
Throw them earthward where they grew
Dim are such, beside the breaking
Amaranths he looks unto.
Folded eyes see brighter colors than the open ever do.
Last night I fled until I came
To streets where leaking casements dripped
Stale lamplight from the corpse of flame;
A nervous window bled.
No more words. In the name of this place we drink in with our breathing, stay quiet like a flower.
So the nightbirds will start singing.
When gloaming treads the heels of day
And birds sit cowering on the spray,
Along the flowery hedge I stray,
To meet mine ain dear somebody.
Flurries early, pristine and pearly. Winter's come calling! Can we endure so premature a falling? Some may find this trend distressing- others bend to say a blessing over sage and onion dressing.
In a certain faraway land the cold is so intense that words freeze as soon as they are uttered, and after some time then thaw and become audible so that words spoken in winter go unheard until the next summer.
Now Simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o'er the chrystal streamlets plays;
Come let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
[G]lobal warming, that manufactured monomania.
In my song you catch at times Note sweeter far than mine, And in the tangle of my rhymes Can scent the eglantine.
Thudded heavily against the snow as the thunderous roar of the yellow, glowing-eyed,
Ice melt when heatedbr>Eyes melts when hated
The best thing about hopeless is if you 're-arrange the letters, it spells pea slosh
Let the world wagge, and take mine ease in myne Inne.
Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright, But looked to near, have neither heat nor light.
The winter street is a salt cave. The snow has stopped falling and it's very cold. The cold is spectacular, penetrating. The street has been silenced, a theatre of whiteness, drifts like frozen waves. Crystals glisten under the streetlights.
In your hands winter is a book with cloud pages that snow pearls of love.
Give winter nothing; hold; and let the flake
Poise or dissolve along your upheld arms.
All flawless hexagons may melt and break;
While you must feel the summer's rage of fire,
Beyond this frigid season's empty storms.
Banished to bloom, and bear the birds' desire.
A sound waiting to be a word.
In what rapt ether sails the world, of which the weariest will never weary?
The first tear drops falling from a depressed sky,
there is silence - the holy silence of winter, broken only by the pings of snowflakes meeting their siblings on the ground, and the soft shushing of the sleigh.
...words--
a flock of birds in a tree
at nightfall.
When awful darkness and silence reign Over the great Gromboolian plain, Through the long, long wintry nights;
One joy of life in the north comes after a winter storm, when the sky, freed of its burden, has paled, and the glow of the unseen sun is everywhere reflected by the snow, so that all things stand out sharp and clear.
The December days had a certain luminosity and sparkle, like frost on bare branches, alight in the morning just before it melts. Mabel
Words have always swirled around me like snowflakes-each one delicate and different, each one melting untouched in my hands.
It's cold and it's winter and the world has gone to sleep
When a great life sets it leaves an afterglow on the sky far into the night.
The Tower trembles; the worlds shudder in their courses. The rose feels a chill, as of winter.
The mystery of language was revealed to me. I knew then that 'W-A-T-E-R' meant the wonderful cool something that was flowing over my hand. That living word awakened my soul, gave it light, joy, set it free.
Frost? What is frost' she demanded in glorious arrogance.
The earthly power sucks shadowed milk from sleepy tears undone, from nippled skin as smooth as silk the bugles blown as one.
What a richly colored strong warm coat is woven when love is the warp and work is the woof.
Even in warmest
glow
how cold my shadow
It was January. Snow was falling; snow had fallen all day. The sky spread like a grey goose's wing from which feathers where falling all over England.
The dewy night unrolls a heaven thickly jewelled with sparkling stars
Silence is eternal eloquence
Introducing 'Lite': the new way to spell 'Light'; but with twenty per cent fewer letters.
Often, we melt into our ecstasies as though they were jams, as though we were sinking into syrupy bowls of gooseberries, of raspberries, of bilberries.
A tear that trembles for a little while
Upon the trembling eyelid, till the world
Wavers within its circle like a dream,
Holds more of meaning in its narrow orb
Than all the distant landscape that it blurs.
Winter is coming.
At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply.
Moisture falls from the sky, cleansing the world and sustaining precious life. But it's the gloom - the cold, dark air - that receives notice. We fail to see the miracle of raindrops through our own tears.
Germ of endearment
It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it.
All white with snow as if under dustsheets, as if laid away eternally as soon as brought back from the shop, never to be seen or touched
This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never all dried at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor is ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.
Dewdrops, Nature's tears, which she Sheds in her own breast for the fair which die. The sun insists on gladness; but at night, When he is gone, poor Nature loves to weep.