"Spanish moss" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... Book in my lap, and Partial's head on my knee, looking out over the passing panorama of the river. The banks now were low, the swamps, at times, showing their fan-topped cypresses close to where we passed; and all the live oaks carried their funereal Spanish moss, gray and ghostlike. ...
— The Lady and the Pirate - Being the Plain Tale of a Diligent Pirate and a Fair Captive • Emerson Hough
... by fields of waving corn or rice, with the tops of a row of negro cabins or the columned front of a planter's house showing in the distance. Then, as the flotilla steamed on, this fair prospect would disappear, and be replaced by noisome cypress brakes, hung thick with the funereal Spanish moss, and harboring beneath the black water many a ...
— The Naval History of the United States - Volume 2 (of 2) • Willis J. Abbot
... along the Cariboo Trail, and prospectors found their way through a chartless sea of windfall—hemlocks criss-crossed the height of a house with branches interlaced like wire. Cataracts fell over lofty ledges in wind-blown spray. Spanish moss, grey-green and feathery, hung from branch to branch of the huge Douglas firs. Sometimes the trail would lead for miles round the edge of some precipices beyond which could be glimpsed the eternal snows. Sometimes an avalanche slid over a slope with ...
— The Cariboo Trail - A Chronicle of the Gold-fields of British Columbia • Agnes C. Laut
... vanishing fragrance on the air, only the Cherokees being left in profusion to lend their peculiar charm to our closing exercises, but the grand old oaks standing like guardian sentinels around the grounds, in all the freshness of their early leafage and festooned with the Spanish moss, ever faithful to all seasons, gave to the place a patriarchal appearance, and an air of seclusion from temptation. The healthful cedar boughs and buds bestowed their ...
— The American Missionary -- Volume 39, No. 08, August, 1885 • Various
... foresight on his part not to be shot into the lane they made in the dark forest of an evening. And the forest,—it seemed an impenetrable mystery, a strange tangle of fantastic growths: the live-oak (chene vert), its wide-spreading limbs hung funereally with Spanish moss and twined in the mistletoe's death embrace; the dark cypress swamp with the conelike knees above the yellow back-waters; and here and there grew the bridelike magnolia which we had known in Kentucky, wafting its perfume ...
— The Crossing • Winston Churchill |
