"West wind" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... and pulled aside the curtains of a window. The nearer world was dripping; the farther world was hidden or obscured by long veils of rain, driven in ragged clouds before a west wind. Yesterday the leaves had waved lightly, the undergrowth of shrubs had uplifted in feathery airiness of texture, the ground beneath had been crisp and aromatic with pine needles. Now everything bore a drooping, sodden aspect which spoke rather of decay than of the life of spring. Even the ...
— The Claim Jumpers • Stewart Edward White
... anwyl." So sings the West wind through the darkling eve, In spirit-wanderings up and down the wold, Each mournful sorrow at its heart untold, Sighing in secret—as the angels grieve, "Bring back my love!" sobs the bereaved wind; And sleeping flow'rets waken at the sound, Shedding ...
— The Death of Saul and other Eisteddfod Prize Poems and Miscellaneous Verses • J. C. Manning
... we discover by watching the direction of the smoke from the chimneys? What does a vane on a steeple tell us? What is a north wind? A south wind? An east wind? A west wind? ...
— Home Geography For Primary Grades • C. C. Long
... become commonplaces in literature and conversation. It is to be remembered that Emerson is one of those authors whose popularity must diffuse itself from above downwards. And after all, few will dare assert that "The Vanity of Human Wishes" is greater as a poem than Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind," or Keats's "Ode to a Nightingale," because no line in either of these poems is ...
— Ralph Waldo Emerson • Oliver Wendell Holmes
... olive of her cheek was turned to the hue of wax, the soft shadows beneath her velvet eyes were deepened and hardened, her expression, once yielding and changing under the breath of thought and feeling as a field of flowers when the west wind blows, was now set, as though for ever, in a death-like fixity. The delicate features were drawn and pinched, the nostrils contracted, the colourless lips straightened out of the lines of beauty into the mould of a lifeless mask. It was the face of a dead woman, but it was her face still, and the ...
— The Witch of Prague • F. Marion Crawford
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