Snow: Quotations from Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. ScoTT-Marmion. Canto V. St. 12. Nobly he yokes A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh Was that it was, for not being such a smile: The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly From so divine a temple, to commix With winds that sailors rail at.— Shakespeare — Cymbeline. Act IV. Sc. 2. L. 51.
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.— Shakespeare — Hamlet. Act I. Sc. 5. L. 108.
Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit That could be mov'd to smile at anything. Julius Cæsar. Act I. Sc. 2. L. 205. Those happy smilets, That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence, As pearls from diamonds dropp'd.— Shakespeare — King Lear. Act IV. Sc. 3. L. 21.
I feel in every smile a chain. S. JOHN WOLCOtt (Peter Pindar)- Pindariana. A tender smile, our sorrows' only balm.— YOUNG — Love of Fame. Satire V. L. 108.
Lo, sifted through the winds that blow, Down comes the soft and silent snow, White petals from the flowers that grow In the cold atmosphere.— GEORGE W. BUNGAY — The Artists of the
Air. Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies, Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies; The fleecy clouds their chilly bosoms bare, And shed their substance on the floating air.— CRABBE — Inebriety.
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end. The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm.— EMERSON — The Snow-Storm.
Come, see the north-wind's masonry. Out of an unseen quarry evermore Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer Curves his white bastions with projected roof Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he For number or proportion.— EMERSON — The Snow-Storm.
Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow.— LONGFELLOW — Snow-Flakes.
The cold winds swept the mountain-height, And pathless was the dreary wild, And, 'mid the cheerless hours of night, A mother wandered with her child: As through the drifting snows she press'd The babe was sleeping on her breast.— SEBA SMITH — The Snow-Storm.