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Rain: Quotations from Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations
We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed The white of their leaves, the amber grain Shrunk in the wind, and the lightning now Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain.— T. B. ALDRICH — Before the Rain.
A little rain will fill The lily's cup which hardly moists the field.— EDWIN ARNOLD — The Light of Asia. Bk. VI. L. 215.
The rain-drops' showery dance and rhythmic beat, With tinkling of innumerable feet.— ABRAHAM COLES — The Microcosm.
Hearing. Powers of Sound, etc. She waits for me, my lady Earth, Smiles and waits and sighs; I'll say her nay, and hide away, Then take her by surprise.— MARY MAPES DODGE — How the Rain
Comes. April.
Though old the thought and oft exprest, 'Tis his at last who says it best.— LOWELL — For an Autograph. St. 1.
I have here only made a nosegay of culled flowers, and have brought nothing of my own but the thread that ties them.— MONTAIGNE — Essays. Of Physiognomy.
Nor suffers Horace more in wrong translations By wits, than critics in as wrong quotations.— POPE — Essay on Criticism. Pt. III. L. 104.
He ranged his tropes, and preached up patience, Backed his opinion with quotations.— PRIOR — Paulo Purganti and his Wife. L. 143.
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.— Shakespeare — Merchant of Venice. Act I. Sc. 3. L. 99.
They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps.— Shakespeare — Love's Labour's Lost. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 39.
Fine words! I wonder where you stole them.— SWIFT — Verses. Occasioned by
Whitehed's Motto on his Coach. Some, for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.— YOUNG — Love of Fame. Satire 1. L. 89.
R. How it pours, pours, pours, In a never-ending sheet! How it drives beneath the doors! How it soaks the passer's feet! How it rattles on the shutter! How it rumples up the lawn! How 'twill sigh, and moan, and mutter, From darkness until dawn. S.— ROSSITER JOHNSON — Rhyme of the Rain.
And the hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain.— LONGFELLOW — Midnight Mass for the Dying Year. St. 4.
Be still, sad heart, and cease repining; Behind the clouds the sun is shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.— LONGFELLOW — An April Day.
The ceaseless rain is falling fast, And yonder gilded vane, Immovable for three days past, Points to the misty main.— LONGFELLOW — Travels by the Fireside. St. 1.
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.— LONGFELLOW — The Rainy Day.
Drip, drip, the rain comes falling, Rain in the woods, rain on the sea; Even the little waves, beaten, come crawling As if to find shelter here with me.— JAMES HERBERT MORSE — Waiting in the
Rain. For the rain it raineth every day. C.— Shakespeare — Twelfth Night. Act V. Sc. 1. Song. L. 401.
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams.— SHELLEY — The Cloud.
I know Sir John will go, though he was sure it would rain cats and dogs.— SWIFT — Polite Conversation.
Dialogue II. The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields; Hung on the shower that fronts the golden And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow, In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world.— THOMSON — The Seasons. Spring. L. 172.
RAINBOW (THE). God's glowing covenant.— HOSEA BALLOU — MS. Sermons.
And, lo! in the dark east, expanded high, The rainbow brightens to the setting Sun.— BEATTIE — The Minstrel. Bk. I. St. 30.
'Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky.— BYRON — Don Juan. Canto I. St. 122.
Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art.— CAMPBELL — To the Rainbow.
Over her hung a canopy of state, Not of rich tissue, nor of spangled gold, But of a substance, though not animate, Yet of a heavenly and spiritual mould, That only eyes of spirits might behold.— GILES FLETCHER — The Rainbow. L. 33.
O beautiful rainbow;-all woven of light! There's not in thy tissue one shadow of night; Heaven surely is open when thou dost appear, And, bending above thee, the angels draw near, And sing,-"The rainbow! the rainbow! The smile of God is here."— MRS. SARAH J. HALE — Poems.