Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In Englandnow!
Here by the baring bough Raking up leaves, Often I ponder how Springtime deceives, I, an old woman now , Raking up leaves.thomas hardy
Here with a loaf of bread beneath the bough, A flask of wine, a book of verseand Thou Beside me singing in the wilderness And wilderness is paradise enow.Edward Fitzgerald
Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, And burne' d is Apollo's laurel bough, That sometime grew within this learned man.Christopher Marlowe
The apparition of these faces in the crowd; Petals on a wet, black bough.
The little cousin is dead, by foul subtraction, A green bough fromVirginia's aged tree.john crowe ransom
God pity us indeed, for we are human,And do not always seeThe vision when it comes, the shining change,Or, if we see it, do not follow it,Because it is too hard, too strange, too new,Too unbelievable, too difficult,Warring too much with common, easy ways,And now I know this, standing in this light,Who have been half alive these many years,Brooding on my own sorrow, my own pain,Saying "I am a barren bough. ExpectNor fruit nor blossom from a barren bough."stephen vincent benét
The bud is on the bough again,The leaf is on the tree.charles jeffreys
If in the present work I have dwelt at some length on the worship of trees , it is not, I trust, because I exaggerate its importance in the history of religion, still less because I would deduce from it a whole system of mythology; it is simply because I could not ignore the subject in attempting to explain the significance of a priest who bore the title of King Of the Wood, and one of whose titles to office was the plucking of a bough the Golden bough from a tree in the sacred grove.james frazer
Rock-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.
Once through this ruined city did I pass I espied a lonely bird on a bough and asked What knowest thou of this wilderness? It replied: 'I can sum it up in two words: ‘Alas, Alas!”
Oh, to be in England, Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf, Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England now.Robert Browning
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.william shakespeare
I never saw a wild thing Sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
Art thou the topmost apple The gatherers could reach, Reddening on the bough? Shall I not take thee?bliss carman
A pear-tree planted nigh: 'Twas charg'd with fruit that made a goodly show, And hung with dangling pears was every bough.Alexander Pope
Oh to be in England now that April's there. And whoever wakes in England sees some morning, unaware. That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, while the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough in England - now!Robert Browning
Look for me when the sun-bright swallow Sings upon the birch bough high.
Perch'd on the cedar's topmost bough, And gay with gilded wings, Perchance the patron of his vow, Some artless linnet sings.william shenstone
Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere; Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough; Sweet is the eglantine, but sticketh nere; Sweet is the firbloome, but its braunches rough; Sweet is the cypress, but its rynd is tough; Sweet is the nut, tut bitter is bis pill; Sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough; And sweet is moly, but his root is ill.Edmund Spenser
Under the shadow of a leafy bough That leaned toward a singing rivulet, One pure white stone, whereon, like crown on brow, The image of the vanished star was set; And this was graven on the pure white stone In golden letters "WHILE SHE LIVED SHE SHONE."
My deranged mother has written another book. This one is called The bough and is even worse that the others. I refer not to its quality it exhibits the usual “coruscating wit” and “penetrating social observation” but to the extent to which it utilizes, as a kind of mulch pile, the lives of her children.Donald Barthelme
A Book of Verses underneath the bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!omar khayyám
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the bough, A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness - And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
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