68 Total Quotes

Water Quotes

William Butler Yeats
O hurry where by water among the trees The delicate-stepping stag and his lady sigh, When they have but looked upon their images Would none had ever loved but you and I! Or have you heard that sliding silver-shoed Pale silver-proud queen-woman of the sky, When the sun looked out of his golden hood? O that none ever loved but you and I! O hurty to the ragged wood, for there I will drive all those lovers out and cry O my share of the world, O yellow hair! No one has ever loved but you and I.
William Butler Yeats
#Water

The yard half a yard, half a lake blue as a corpse. The lake will tell things you long to hear: get away from here. Three o'clock. Dry leaves rat-tat like maracas. Whisky-colored grass breaks at every step and trees are slowly realizing they are nude. How long will you stay? For the lake asks questions you want to hear, too. Months have passed since, well, everything. Since buildings stood black against sky, rain hissed from sidewalks and curled around you. O, how those avenues once seemed menacing! I know what you miss sings this lake. Car horns groaning in rush hour. Sweet coffee. Wind pounding like hammers. Warmth of a lover. Crickets humming love songs to the street.
Deborah Ager
#Water

Wendell Berry
Like the water of a deep stream, love is always too much. We did not make it. Though we drink till we burst, we cannot have it all, or want it all. In its abundance it survives our thirst. In the evening we come down to the shore to drink our fill, and sleep, while it flows through the regions of the dark. It does not hold us, except we keep returning to its rich waters thirsty. We enter, willing to die, into the commonwealth of its joy.
Wendell Berry
#Water

Wendell Berry
I was born in a drouth year. That summer my mother waited in the house, enclosed in the sun and the dry ceaseless wind, for the men to come back in the evenings, bringing water from a distant spring. veins of leaves ran dry, roots shrank. And all my life I have dreaded the return of that year, sure that it still is somewhere, like a dead enemys soul. Fear of dust in my mouth is always with me, and I am the faithful husband of the rain, I love the water of wells and springs and the taste of roofs in the water of cisterns. I am a dry man whose thirst is praise of clouds, and whose mind is something of a cup. My sweetness is to wake in the night after days of dry heat, hearing the rain.
Wendell Berry
#Water

Matthew Arnold
A region desolate and wild. Black, chafing water: and afloat, And lonely as a truant child In a waste wood, a single boat: No mast, no sails are set thereon; It moves, but never moveth on: And welters like a human thing Amid the wild waves weltering. Behind, a buried vale doth sleep, Far down the torrent cleaves its way: In front the dumb rock rises steep, A fretted wall of blue and grey; Of shooting cliff and crumbled stone With many a wild weed overgrown: All else, black water: and afloat, One rood from shore, that single boat.
Matthew Arnold
#Water

Robert Frost
The well was dry beside the door, And so we went with pail and can Across the fields behind the house To seek the brook if still it ran; Not loth to have excuse to go, Because the autumn eve was fair (Though chill), because the fields were ours, And by the brook our woods were there. We ran as if to meet the moon That slowly dawned behind the trees, The barren boughs without the leaves, Without the birds, without the breeze. But once within the wood, we paused Like gnomes that hid us from the moon, Ready to run to hiding new With laughter when she found us soon. Each laid on other a staying hand To listen ere we dared to look, And in the hush we joined to make We heard, we knew we heard the brook. A note as from a single place, A slender tinkling fall that made Now drops that floated on the pool Like pearls, and now a silver blade.
Robert Frost
#Water

Carl Sandburg
WHAT was the name you called me?-- And why did you go so soon? The crows lift their caw on the wind, And the wind changed and was lonely. The warblers cry their sleepy-songs Across the valley gloaming, Across the cattle-horns of early stars. Feathers and people in the crotch of a treetop Throw an evening waterfall of sleepy-songs. What was the name you called me?-- And why did you go so soon?
Carl Sandburg
#Water

James Joyce
All day I hear the noise of waters Making moan, Sad as the sea-bird is when, going Forth alone, He hears the winds cry to the water's Monotone. The grey winds, the cold winds are blowing Where I go. I hear the noise of many waters Far below. All day, all night, I hear them flowing To and fro.
James Joyce
#Water

Carl Sandburg
On the breakwater in the summer dark, a man and a girl are sitting, She across his knee and they are looking face into face Talking to each other without words, singing rythms in silence to each other. A funnel of white ranges the blue dusk from an out- going boat, Playing its searchlight, puzzled, abrupt, over a streak of green, And two on the breakwater keep their silence, she on his knee.
Carl Sandburg
#Water

Carl Sandburg
CHATTER of birds two by two raises a night song joining a litany of running water--sheer waters showing the russet of old stones remembering many rains. And the long willows drowse on the shoulders of the running water, and sleep from much music; joined songs of day-end, feathery throats and stony waters, in a choir chanting new psalms. It is too much for the long willows when low laughter of a red moon comes down; and the willows drowse and sleep on the shoulders of the running water.
Carl Sandburg
#Water

1 With what deep murmurs through time's silent stealth 2 Doth thy transparent, cool, and wat'ry wealth 3 Here flowing fall, 4 And chide, and call, 5 As if his liquid, loose retinue stay'd 6 Ling'ring, and were of this steep place afraid; 7 The common pass 8 Where, clear as glass, 9 All must descend 10 Not to an end, 11 But quicken'd by this deep and rocky grave, 12 Rise to a longer course more bright and brave. 13 Dear stream! dear bank, where often I 14 Have sate and pleas'd my pensive eye, 15 Why, since each drop of thy quick store 16 Runs thither whence it flow'd before, 17 Should poor souls fear a shade or night, 18 Who came, sure, from a sea of light? 19 Or since those drops are all sent back 20 So sure to thee, that none doth lack, 21 Why should frail flesh doubt any more 22 That what God takes, he'll not restore? 23 O useful element and clear! 24 My sacred wash and cleanser here, 25 My first consigner unto those 26 Fountains of life where the Lamb goes! 27 What sublime truths and wholesome themes 28 Lodge in thy mystical deep streams! 29 Such as dull man can never find 30 Unless that Spirit lead his mind 31 Which first upon thy face did move, 32 And hatch'd all with his quick'ning love. 33 As this loud brook's incessant fall 34 In streaming rings restagnates all, 35 Which reach by course the bank, and then 36 Are no more seen, just so pass men. 37 O my invisible estate, 38 My glorious liberty, still late! 39 Thou art the channel my soul seeks, 40 Not this with cataracts and creeks.
Henry Vaughan
#Water

They hide in the brook when I seek to draw nearer, Laughing amain when I feign to depart; Often I hear them, now faint and now clearer-- Innocent bold or so sweetly discreet. Are they Nymphs of the Stream at their playing Or but the brook I mistook for a voice? Little care I; for, despite harsh Time's flaying, Brook voice or Nymph voice still makes me rejoice.
Ellis Parker Butler
#Water

Today as the news from Selma and Saigon poisons the air like fallout, I come again to see the serene, great picture that I love. Here space and time exist in light<br
Robert Hayden
#Water

As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny smile, Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while. One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes, To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring, For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting -- Oh! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay, Like a dead, leafless branch in the summer's bright ray; The beams of the warm sun play round it in vain; It may smile in his light, but it blooms not again.
Thomas Moore
#Water

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene Her purest of crystal and brightest of green; 'Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill, Oh! no, -- it was something more exquisite still. 'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love. Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace.
Thomas Moore
#Water

ALTHO' my back be at the wa', And tho' he be the fautor; Altho' my back be at the wa', Yet, here's his health in water. O wae gae by his wanton sides, Sae brawlie's he could flatter; Till for his sake I'm slighted sair, And dree the kintra clatter: But tho' my back be at the wa', And tho' he be the fautor; But tho' my back be at the wa', Yet here's his health in water!
Robert Burns
#Water

'Twas in the year 1815, and on the 18th day of June, That British cannon, against the French army, loudly did boom, Upon the ever memorable bloody field of Waterloo; Which Napoleon remembered while in St. Helena, and bitterly did rue. The morning of the 18th was gloomy and cheerless to behold, But the British soon recovered from the severe cold That they had endured the previous rainy night; And each man prepared to burnish his arms for the coming fight. Then the morning passed in mutual arrangements for battle, And the French guns, at half-past eleven, loudly did rattle; And immediately the order for attack was given, Then the bullets flew like lightning till the Heaven's seemed riven. The place from which Bonaparte viewed the bloody field Was the farmhouse of La Belle Alliance, which some protection did yield; And there he remained for the most part of the day, Pacing to and fro with his hands behind him in doubtful dismay. The Duke of Wellington stood upon a bridge behind La Haye, And viewed the British army in all their grand array, And where danger threatened most the noble Duke was found In the midst of shot and shell on every side around. Hougemont was the key of the Duke of Wellington's position, A spot that was naturally very strong, and a great acqusition To the Duke and his staff during the day, Which the Coldstream Guards held to the last, without dismay. The French 2nd Corps were principally directed during the day To carry Hougemont farmhouse without delay; So the farmhouse in quick succession they did attack, But the British guns on the heights above soon drove them back. But still the heavy shot and shells ploughed through the walls; Yet the brave Guards resolved to hold the place no matter what befalls; And they fought manfully to the last, with courage unshaken, Until the tower of Hougemont was in a blaze but still it remained untaken. By these desperate attacks Napoleon lost ten thousand men, And left them weltering in their gore like sheep in a pen; And the British lost one thousand men-- which wasn't very great, Because the great Napoleon met with a crushing defeat. The advance of Napoleon on the right was really very fine, Which was followed by a general onset upon the British line, In which three hundred pieces of artillery opened their cannonade; But the British artillery played upon them, and great courage displayed. For ten long hours it was a continued succession of attacks; Whilst the British cavalry charged them in all their drawbacks; And the courage of the British Army was great in square at Waterloo, Because hour after hour they were mowed down in numbers not a few. At times the temper of the troops had very nearly failed, Especially amongst the Irish regiments who angry railed; And they cried: " When will we get at them? Show us the way That we may avenge the death of our comrades without delay" "But be steady and cool, my brave lads," was their officers' command, While each man was ready to charge with gun in hand; Oh, Heaven! if was pitiful to see their comrades lying around, Dead and weltering in their gore, and cumbering the ground. It was a most dreadful sight to behold, Heaps upon heaps of dead men lying stiff and cold; While the cries of the dying was lamentable to hear; And for the loss Of their comrades many a soldier shed a tear. Men and horses fell on every aide around, Whilst heavy cannon shot tore up the ground; And musket balls in thousands flew, And innocent blood bedewed the field of Waterloo. Methinks I see the solid British square, Whilst the shout of the French did rend the air, As they rush against the square of steel. Which forced them back and made them reel. And when a gap was made in that square, The cry of "Close up! Close up!" did rend the air, "And charge them with your bayonets, and make them fly! And Scotland for ever! be the cry." The French and British closed in solid square, While the smoke of the heavy cannonade darkened the air; Then the noble Picton deployed his division into line, And drove back the enemy in a very short time. Then Lord Anglesey seized on the moment, and charging with the Greys, Whilst the Inniskillings burst through everything, which they did always; Then the French infantry fell in hundreds by the swords of the Dragoons; Whilst the thundering of the cannonade loudly booms. And the Eagles of the 45th and 105th were all captured that day, And upwards of 2000 prisoners, all in grand array; But, alas! at the head of his division, the noble Picton fell, While the Highlanders played a lament for him they loved so well. Then the French cavalry receded from the square they couldn't penetrate, Still Napoleon thought to weary the British into defeat; But when he saw his columns driven back in dismay, He cried, "How beautifully these English fight, but they must give way." And well did British bravery deserve the proud encomium, Which their enduring courage drew from the brave Napoleon; And when the close column of infantry came on the British square, Then the British gave one loud cheer which did rend the air. Then the French army pressed forward at Napoleon's command, Determined, no doubt, to make a bold stand; Then Wellington cried, " Up Guards and break their ranks through, And chase the French invaders from off the field of Waterloo!" Then, in a moment, they were all on their feet, And they met the French, sword in hand, and made them retreat; Then Wellington in person directed the attack, And at ever
William Topaz McGonagall
#Water

BRAW, braw lads on Yarrow-braes, They rove amang the blooming heather; But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws Can match the lads o' Galla Water. But there is ane, a secret ane, Aboon them a' I loe him better; And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, The bonie lad o' Galla Water. Altho' his daddie was nae laird, And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher, Yet rich in kindest, truest love, We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water. It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure; The bands and bliss o' mutual love, O that's the chiefest warld's treasure.
Robert Burns
#Water

MY lord, I know your noble ear Woe ne'er assails in vain; Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear Your humble slave complain, How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, In flaming summer-pride, Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, And drink my crystal tide. 1 The lightly-jumping, glowrin' trouts, That thro' my waters play, If, in their random, wanton spouts, They near the margin stray; If, hapless chance! they linger lang, I'm scorching up so shallow, They're left the whitening stanes amang, In gasping death to wallow. Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, As poet Burns came by. That, to a bard, I should be seen Wi' half my channel dry; A panegyric rhyme, I ween, Ev'n as I was, he shor'd me; But had I in my glory been, He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. Here, foaming down the skelvy rocks, In twisting strength I rin; There, high my boiling torrent smokes, Wild-roaring o'er a linn: Enjoying each large spring and well, As Nature gave them me, I am, altho' I say't mysel', Worth gaun a mile to see. Would then my noble master please To grant my highest wishes, He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees, And bonie spreading bushes. Delighted doubly then, my lord, You'll wander on my banks, And listen mony a grateful bird Return you tuneful thanks. The sober lav'rock, warbling wild, Shall to the skies aspire; The gowdspink, Music's gayest child, Shall sweetly join the choir; The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear, The mavis mild and mellow; The robin pensive Autumn cheer, In all her locks of yellow. This, too, a covert shall ensure, To shield them from the storm; And coward maukin sleep secure, Low in her grassy form: Here shall the shepherd make his seat, To weave his crown of flow'rs; Or find a shelt'ring, safe retreat, From prone-descending show'rs. And here, by sweet, endearing stealth, Shall meet the loving pair, Despising worlds, with all their wealth, As empty idle care; The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms, The hour of heav'n to grace; And birks extend their fragrant arms To screen the dear embrace. Here haply too, at vernal dawn, Some musing bard may stray, And eye the smoking, dewy lawn, And misty mountain grey; Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, Mild-chequering thro' the trees, Rave to my darkly dashing stream, Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, My lowly banks o'erspread, And view, deep-bending in the pool, Their shadow's wat'ry bed: Let fragrant birks, in woodbines drest, My craggy cliffs adorn; And, for the little songster's nest, The close embow'ring thorn. So may old Scotia's darling hope, Your little angel band Spring, like their fathers, up to prop Their honour'd native land! So may, thro' Albion's farthest ken, To social-flowing glasses, The grace be--"Athole's honest men, And Athole's bonie lasses!" Note 1. Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful; but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs.--R. B. [back]
Robert Burns
#Water

WHY, ye tenants of the lake, For me your wat'ry haunt forsake? Tell me, fellow-creatures, why At my presence thus you fly? Why disturb your social joys, Parent, filial, kindred ties?-- Common friend to you and me, yature's gifts to all are free: Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, Busy feed, or wanton lave; Or, beneath the sheltering rock, Bide the surging billow's shock. Conscious, blushing for our race, Soon, too soon, your fears I trace, Man, your proud, usurping foe, Would be lord of all below: Plumes himself in freedom's pride, Tyrant stern to all beside. The eagle, from the cliffy brow, Marking you his prey below, In his breast no pity dwells, Strong necessity compels: But Man, to whom alone is giv'n A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, Glories in his heart humane-- And creatures for his pleasure slain! In these savage, liquid plains, Only known to wand'ring swains, Where the mossy riv'let strays, Far from human haunts and ways; All on Nature you depend, And life's poor season peaceful spend. Or, if man's superior might Dare invade your native right, On the lofty ether borne, Man with all his pow'rs you scorn; Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, Other lakes and other springs; And the foe you cannot brave, Scorn at least to be his slave.
Robert Burns
#Water

Emily Dickinson
Water, is taught by thirst. Land -- by the Oceans passed. Transport -- by throe -- Peace -- by its battles told -- Love, by Memorial Mold -- Birds, by the Snow.
Emily Dickinson
#Water

Thou water turn'st to wine, fair friend of life, Thy foe, to cross the sweet arts of thy reign, Distills from thence the tears of wrath and strife, And so turns wine to water back again.
Richard Crashaw
#Water

Emily Dickinson
Declaiming Waters none may dread -- But Waters that are still Are so for that most fatal cause In Nature -- they are full --
Emily Dickinson
#Water

Emily Dickinson
How the Waters closed above Him We shall never know -- How He stretched His Anguish to us That -- is covered too -- Spreads the Pond Her Base of Lilies Bold above the Boy Whose unclaimed Hat and Jacket Sum the History --
Emily Dickinson
#Water

Emily Dickinson
I think that the Root of the Wind is Water -- It would not sound so deep Were it a Firmamental Product -- Airs no Oceans keep -- Mediterranean intonations -- To a Current's Ear -- There is a maritime conviction In the Atmosphere --
Emily Dickinson
#Water

Emily Dickinson
The waters chased him as he fled, Not daring look behind -- A billow whispered in his Ear, "Come home with me, my friend -- My parlor is of shriven glass, My pantry has a fish For every palate in the Year" -- To this revolting bliss The object floating at his side Made no distinct reply.
Emily Dickinson
#Water

Emily Dickinson
Though the great Waters sleep, That they are still the Deep, We cannot doubt -- No vacillating God Ignited this Abode To put it out --
Emily Dickinson
#Water

Emily Dickinson
Water makes many Beds For those averse to sleep -- Its awful chamber open stands -- Its Curtains blandly sweep -- Abhorrent is the Rest In undulating Rooms Whose Amplitude no end invades -- Whose Axis never comes.
Emily Dickinson
#Water

I heard the old, old men say, 'Everything alters, And one by one we drop away.' They had hands like claws, and their knees Were twisted like the old thorn-trees By the waters. I heard the old, old men say, 'All that's beautiful drifts away Like the waters.'
William Butler Yeats
#Water

Shy one, shy one, Shy one of my heart, She moves in the firelight pensively apart. She carries in the dishes, And lays them in a row. To an isle in the water With her would I go. With catries in the candles, And lights the curtained room, Shy in the doorway And shy in the gloom; And shy as a rabbit, Helpful and shy. To an isle in the water With her would I fly.
William Butler Yeats
#Water