Ghosts of melodious prophesyings rave Round every spot where trod Apollo's foot; Bronze clarions awake, and faintly bruit, Where long ago a giant battle was; And, from the turf, a lullaby doth pass In every place where infant Orpheus slept. Feel we these things? that moment have we stept Into a sort of oneness, and our state Is like a floating spirit's. But there are Richer entanglements, enthralments far More self-destroying, leading, by degrees, To the chief intensity: the crown of these Is made of love and friendship, and sits high Upon the forehead of humanity.
I gazed upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round, And thought that when I came to lie At rest within the ground, 'Twere pleasant that in flowery June When brooks send up a cheerful tune, And groves a joyous sound, The sexton's hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain turf should break.william cullen bryant
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.thomas gray
Ye valleys low where the mild whispers use, Of shades and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks, Throw hither all your quaint enameled eyes, That on the green turf such the honeyed showers, And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.john milton
I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way, Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring, And gentle odours led my steps astray, Mixed with a sound of water's murmuring Along a shelving bankof turf, which lay Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightst in dream.Percy Bysshe Shelley
Few, few shall part where many meet!The snow shall be their winding-sheet,And every turf beneath their feetShall be a soldier's sepulchre.thomas campbell
By fairy hands their knell is rung;By forms unseen their dirge is sung;There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,To bless the turf that wraps their clay;And Freedom shall awhile repair,To dwell a weeping hermit there!william collins
Give me the clear blue sky over my head, and the green turf beneath my feet, a winding road before me, and a three hours' march to dinner — and then to thinking! ... I begin to feel, think, and be myself again. Instead of an awkward silence, broken by attempts at wit or dull common-places, mine is that undisturbed silence of the heart which alone is perfect eloquence.william hazlitt
All presidents rail against the press. It goes with the turf.helen thomas
Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose types of things through all degrees.william wordsworth
Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days! None knew thee but to love thee, 1 Nor named thee but to praise.fitz-greene halleck
All presidents rail against the press. It goes with the turf.
Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days; None knew thee but to love thee Nor named thee but to praise.
Yet shall thy grave with rising flow'rs be dressed, And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast; There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow, There the first roses of the year shall blow.Alexander Pope
To smell to a turf of fresh earth is wholesome for the body; no less are thoughts of mortality cordial to the soul.thomas fuller
He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf,
At his heels a stone.
To have the last word, to be beyond contradiction, to inhabit a world of assertion and paradox – it may not be every aphorist’s ambition, but it seems to come with the turf.
Under this marble, or under this sill, Or under this turf, or e'en what they will, Whatever an heir, or a friend in his stead, Or any good creature shall lay o'er my head, Lies one who ne'er car'd, and still cares not a pin What they said or may say of the mortal within; But who, living and dying, serene, still and free, Trusts in God that as well as he was he shall be.Alexander Pope
The turf has drank a Widow's tear; Three of her husbands Slumber here.
Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes That on the green turf suck the honied showers, And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freakt with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears.john milton
Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.william wordsworth