Quotes
Quotes about Sun
Angels listen when she speaks:
She's my delight, all mankind's wonder;
But my jealous heart would break
Should we live one day asunder.
He had been eight years upon a project for extracting sunbeams out of cucumbers, which were to be put in phials hermetically sealed, and let out to warm the air in raw inclement summers.
I always like to begin a journey on Sundays, because I shall have the prayers of the Church to preserve all that travel by land or by water.
Defer not till to-morrow to be wise,
To-morrow's sun to thee may never rise.
I 'm weary of conjectures,--this must end 'em.
Thus am I doubly armed: my death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me:
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds.
From all who dwell below the skies
Let the Creator's praise arise;
Let the Redeemer's name be sung
Through every land, by every tongue.
True as the needle to the pole,
Or as the dial to the sun.
Thoughts shut up want air,
And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.
Like our shadows,
Our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
How commentators each dark passage shun,
And hold their farthing candle to the sun.
Souls made of fire, and children of the sun,
With whom revenge is virtue.
Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise;
My footstool earth, my canopy the skies.
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees.
The soul's calm sunshine and the heartfelt joy.
E'en Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me.
Such were the notes thy once lov'd poet sung,
Till death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue.
Note 71.Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.--Sir Walter Scott: Lay of the Last Minstrel.
Unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.--Lord Byron: Childe Harold, canto iv. stanza 179.
The dews of the evening most carefully shun,--
Those tears of the sky for the loss of the sun.
When Britain first, at Heaven's command,
Arose from out the azure main,
This was the charter of her land,
And guardian angels sung the strain:
Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves!
Britons never shall be slaves.
A little rule, a little sway,
A sunbeam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.
To sun myself in Huncamunca's eyes.
Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
Less pleasing when possest;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast.
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening paradise.
Let others hail the rising sun:
I bow to that whose course is run.
