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"Feathery" Quotes from Famous Books

... sunshine, and closely cut alfalfa fields made bright spots of emerald against the dun landscape. The quaking aspens were just beginning to turn yellow; everywhere purple asters were a blaze of glory except where the rabbit-bush grew in clumps, waving its feathery plumes of gold. Over it all the sky was so deeply blue, with little, airy, white clouds drifting lazily along. Every breeze brought scents of cedar, pine, and sage. At this point the road wound along the base of cedar hills; some magpies were ...

— Letters of a Woman Homesteader • Elinore Pruitt Stewart

... day Came forth in the woods With the flowers to play. The flowers they plucked They cast on the ground For others, and those For still others they found. Flower-guided it was That they came as they ran On something that lay In the shape of a man. The snow must have made The feathery bed When this one fell On the sleep of the dead. But the snow was gone A long time ago, And the body he wore Nigh gone with the snow. The fairies drew near And keenly espied A ring on his hand And a chain at his side. They knelt in the leaves And eerily played With the glittering things, ...

— A Boy's Will • Robert Frost

... exhales, And sighs out a spicy farewell to the gales. Unfeared and unfearing we'll traverse the wood, Where pours the rude torrent its turbulent flood: The forest's red children will smile as we scour By the log-fashioned hut and the pine-woven bower; Thy feathery footsteps scarce bending the grass, Or denting the dew-spangled moss where ...

— Personal Recollections • Charlotte Elizabeth

... the feathery branches of tall tamarisk trees, smoking their water-pipes, after the sunset meal. It was the ...

— Son of Power • Will Levington Comfort and Zamin Ki Dost

... sweeping ulster, and beneath it a frock-coat, which was doubtless the pride of some West End tailor. His patent-leather boots were dandiacally diminutive; his glove fitted like that of a lady who lives but to be bien gantee. The feathery hair, which at Whitelaw he was wont to pat and smooth, still had its golden shimmer, and on his face ...

— Born in Exile • George Gissing

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