"Pollute" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... small voice is often heard, Whispering a mingled sentiment, 'Twixt resignation and content. Oft in my mind such thoughts awake, By lone Saint Mary's silent lake; Thou know'st it well,—nor fen, nor sedge, Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge; Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink At once upon the level brink; And just a trace of silver sand Marks where the water meets the land. Far in the mirror, bright and blue, Each hill's huge outline you may view; Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare, Nor tree, nor ...
— Marmion: A Tale of Flodden Field • Walter Scott
... dispels. Love blooms in her, but 'tis his home most pure; Her daily virtues blend with native grace; Her noiseless movements speak, though she is mute: Such power her eyes, they can the day obscure, Illume the night,—the honey's sweetness chase, And wake its stream, where gall doth oft pollute. ...
— The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch • Petrarch
... food upon them; after which they lay aside their [white] garments, and betake themselves to their labors again till the evening; then they return home to supper, after the same manner; and if there be any strangers there, they sit down with them. Nor is there ever any clamor or disturbance to pollute their house, but they give every one leave to speak in their turn; which silence thus kept in their house appears to foreigners like some tremendous mystery; the cause of which is that perpetual sobriety they exercise, and the same settled measure ...
— The Wars of the Jews or History of the Destruction of Jerusalem • Flavius Josephus
... begged me to go home and not to drink any more. We parted, after we'd said goodnight. A few days later I heard she'd left me only to go to a large party, where she drank till morning. Well, I said, as in those days I looked for all that was good in women, she meant well by me, but had to pollute herself for ...
— The Road to Damascus - A Trilogy • August Strindberg
... the kindest mother still, Though always changing in her aspect mild; From her bare bosom let me take my fill, Her never-weaned, though not her favoured child. O she is fairest in her features wild, Where nothing polished dares pollute her path; To me by day or night she ever smiled, Though I have marked her when none other hath, And sought her more and more, and loved her most in ...
— Early Reviews of English Poets • John Louis Haney
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