"Songless" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... long, changeless night of winter. The sharp snow-covered crests of the mountains rose in white appeal against the darkness of the sky,—the wild north wind tore through the leafless branches of the pine-forests, bringing with it driving pellets of stinging hail. Joyless and songless, the whole landscape lay as though frozen into sculptured stone. The Sun slept,—and the Fjord, black with brooding shadows, seemed silently to ask—where? Where was the great king of Light?—the glorious god of the golden hair and ruddy countenance?—the glittering ...
— Thelma • Marie Corelli
... him an' ask him how it come thet nobody else didn't hear it, why he says that's because them thet live in houses an' eat flesh ain't got the love o' Grod in their hearts, an' can't expect to hear the songs of the songless ...
— Sonny, A Christmas Guest • Ruth McEnery Stuart
... pride, Behold! the parched earth drinks the crimson tide. Down, down it flows, unceasingly, To the dim caverned halls below, Where throned in kindred gloom the sister train, Of Themis progeny severe, Brood in their songless, silent reign! Stern minister of wrath's decree, They catch in swarthy cups thy streaming gore, And pledge with horrid ...
— The Works of Frederich Schiller in English • Frederich Schiller
... land where dull Despair is king O'er scentless flower and songless bird!' But we have heard the bell-birds ring Their silver bells at eventide, Like fairies on the mountain side, The sweetest note man ...
— Rio Grande's Last Race and Other Verses • Andrew Barton 'Banjo' Paterson
... ever great!"— Songless sat I by a grove, Pines, like funeral priests of state, Chanted solemn rites above. Dark and glassy far below, The River in his proud vale slept, Eve with olive-shafted bow Like a ...
— Thoughts, Moods and Ideals: Crimes of Leisure • W.D. Lighthall
... gloom hang over the sombre chateau and its grounds; a deathlike silence weighs like a gravestone on the desolate scene; the birds are songless; the wind is still; not a leaf stirs; and light alone seems to be living in that dreary solitude. No one could observe the entire absence of noise, motion, and vitality, without being impressed with the idea that nature had been suddenly plunged ...
— The Poor Gentleman • Hendrik Conscience
... lotus-covered stream, their giant leaves trailing in the slow-moving current. Tangled masses of bracken rioted in wild abundance over a velvety green sod, overshadowed by waving magnolias. Through the trees bright-plumaged birds were flitting from branch to branch in songless flight, flashing their brilliant colours through the sunny leaves. In places the water splashed over moss-grown rocks into deep pools. Every drifting spray of cloud threw over the dell a new light, deepening the shadows ...
— The Crack of Doom • Robert Cromie
... she haunts those woodland ways, Though all fond fancy finds there now To mind of spring or summer days, Are sodden trunk and songless bough. The past sits widowed on her brow, Homeward she wends with wintry gaze, To walls that house a hollow vow, To hearth where love hath ceased to blaze; Watches the clammy twilight wane, With grief too fixed for woe or tear; And, with her forehead ...
— The World's Best Poetry, Volume 3 - Sorrow and Consolation • Various
... but, after all, there the portent was, in spite of all the deities which Olympus, or Arcadia, or Latium ever bred; and at length it had a nervous effect upon the old gentleman's system, and, for the first evening after it, he put all his good things from him, and went to bed supperless and songless. What had been Juba's motive in the exploit which so unpleasantly affected his uncle, it is of course quite impossible to say. Whether his mention of Callista's name was intended to be for the benefit of her soul, or the ruin of Agellius's, must be left in the obscurity ...
— Callista • John Henry Cardinal Newman
... the brooks of Europe, in that dry and songless land; brave old names and wars, strong cities, cymbals, and bright armour, in that nook of the mountain, sacred only to the Indian and the bear! This is still the strangest thing in all man's travelling, that he should carry ...
— The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition - Vol. 2 (of 25) • Robert Louis Stevenson
... another voice, that sings. Hark! every evening when the sun's at rest, A little bird floats hither on beating wings,— See there—it darted from its leafy nest— And, do you know, it is my faith, as oft As God makes any songless soul, He sends A little bird to be her friend of friends, And sing for ...
— Love's Comedy • Henrik Ibsen |
