A Quote by William Johnson Cory

Jolly boating weather,
And a hay harvest breeze,
Blade on the feather,
Shade off the trees. — © William Johnson Cory
Jolly boating weather, And a hay harvest breeze, Blade on the feather, Shade off the trees.
There are those who say that trees shade the garden too much, and interfere with the growth of the vegetables. There may be something in this:but when I go down the potato rows, the rays of the sun glancing upon my shining blade, the sweat pouring down my face, I should be grateful for shade.
Oh! that we two were Maying Down the stream of the soft spring breeze; Like children with violets playing, In the shade of the whispering trees.
Listen. The trees in this story are stirring, trembling, readjusting themselves. A breeze is coming in gusts off the sea, and it is almost as if the trees know, in their restlessness, in their head-tossing impatience, that something is about to happen.
Trees that, like the poplar, lift upward all their boughs, give no shade and no shelter, whatever their height. Trees the most lovingly shelter and shade us, when, like the willow, the higher soar their summits, the lower drop their boughs.
Some beach, somewhere. There's a big umbrella casting shade over an empty chair. Palm trees are growin' and a warm breeze a blowing. I picture myself right there, on some beach, somewhere.
they ran in the sunlight, creating their own breeze which pressed their dresses into their damp skin. Reaching a kind of square of four locked trees which promised cooling; they flung themselves into the shade to taste their lip sweat and contemplate the wildness that had come upon them so suddenly
Lo and behold! God made this starry wold, The maggot and the mold; lo and behold! He taught the grass contentment blade by blade, The sanctity of sameness in a shade.
I can pass days Stretch'd in the shade of those old cedar trees, Watching the sunshine like a blessing fall,-- The breeze like music wandering o'er the boughs, Each tree a natural harp,--each different leaf A different note, blent in one vast thanksgiving.
T hanks for time to be together, turkey, talk, and tangy weather. H for harvest stored away, home, and hearth, and holiday. A for autumn's frosty art, and abundance in the heart. N for neighbors, and November, nice things, new things to remember. K for kitchen, kettles' croon, kith and kin expected soon. S for sizzles, sights, and sounds, and something special that about. That spells THANKS for joy in living and a jolly good Thanksgiving.
There are varying degrees of shade. There is funny shade, warning shade, tea shade, and mean girl shade.
Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies tall, silver-shafted palm-trees rise, between full orange-trees that shade the living colonade.
Through three cheese trees three free fleas flew. While these fleas flew, freezy breeze blew. Freezy breeze made these three trees freeze. Freezy trees made these trees' cheese freeze. That's what made these three free fleas sneeze.
It's ninety-six degrees in the shade... Before I catch blood on my blade.
I do not like poems that resemble hay compressed into a geometrically perfect cube. I like it when the hay, unkempt, uncombed, with dry berries mixed in it, thrown together gaily and freely, bounces along atop some truck-and more, if there are some lovely and healthy lasses atop the hay-and better yet if the branches catch at the hay, and some of it tumbles to the road.
I would I were alive again To kiss the fingers of the rain, To drink into my eyes the shine Of every slanting silver line, To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze From drenched and dripping apple-trees. For soon the shower will be done, And then the broad face of the sun Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth Until the world with answering mirth Shakes joyously, and each round drop Rolls twinkling, from its grass-blade top.
Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong, Under the shade of a coolibar tree, And he sang as he sat and waited for his billy-boil, You'll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me.
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