Careful Words

snow (n.)

snow (v.)

His beard was as white as snow,

All flaxen was his poll.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act iv. Sc. 5.

  Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act iii. Sc. 1.

As chaste as unsunn'd snow.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Cymbeline. Act ii. Sc. 5.

Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains;

They crowned him long ago

On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,

With a diadem of snow.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Manfred. Act i. Sc. 1.

Chaste as the icicle

That's curdied by the frost from purest snow

And hangs on Dian's temple.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Coriolanus. Act v. Sc. 3.

Take, O, take those lips away,

That so sweetly were forsworn;

And those eyes, the break of day,

Lights that do mislead the morn:

But my kisses bring again, bring again;

Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in vain.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Measure for Measure. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow

Which thy frozen bosom bears,

On whose tops the pinks that grow

Are of those that April wears!

But first set my poor heart free,

Bound in those icy chains by thee.

John Fletcher (1576-1625): The Bloody Brother. Act v. Sc. 2.

Round and round, like a dance of snow

In a dazzling drift, as its guardians, go

Floating the women faded for ages,

Sculptured in stone on the poet's pages.

Robert Browning (1812-1890): Women and Roses.

At Christmas I no more desire a rose

Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth;

But like of each thing that in season grows.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Love's Labour's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.

A mockery king of snow.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Richard II. Act iv. Sc. 1.

I am going a long way

With these thou seëst—if indeed I go

(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)—

To the island-valley of Avilion,

Where falls not hail or rain or any snow,

Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies

Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns

And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea,

Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892): The Passing of Arthur.

He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find

The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow;

He who surpasses or subdues mankind

Must look down on the hate of those below.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 45.

Those cherries fairly do enclose

Of orient pearl a double row;

Which when her lovely laughter shows,

They look like rosebuds filled with snow.

An Howres Recreation in Musike. (1606. Set to music by Richard Alison. Oliphant's "La Messa Madrigalesca," p. 229.)

Few, few shall part where many meet!

The snow shall be their winding-sheet,

And every turf beneath their feet

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

Thomas Campbell (1777-1844): Hohenlinden.

The clear, sweet singer with the crown of snow

Not whiter than the thoughts that housed below.

James Russell Lowell (1819-1891): To George William Curtis.

O, who can hold a fire in his hand

By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?

Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite

By bare imagination of a feast?

Or wallow naked in December snow

By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?

O, no! the apprehension of the good

Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 3.

Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow,

Emblems right meet of decency does yield.

William Shenstone (1714-1763): The Schoolmistress. Stanza 6.

A man whose blood

Is very snow-broth; one who never feels

The wanton stings and motions of the sense.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 4.

But pleasures are like poppies spread,

You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;

Or, like the snow-fall in the river,

A moment white, then melts forever.

Robert Burns (1759-1796): Tam o' Shanter.

By happy chance we saw

A twofold image: on a grassy bank

A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood

Another and the same!

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): The Excursion. Book ix.