sun (n.)
- annum
- bake
- blot
- brush
- burn
- candle
- century
- chromosphere
- corona
- cure
- day
- daylight
- daystar
- decade
- decennary
- decennium
- drain
- dry
- fire
- flame
- fortnight
- hour
- illuminant
- kiln
- lamp
- lantern
- light
- luminant
- luminary
- lunation
- luster
- lustrum
- match
- microsecond
- millennium
- millisecond
- minute
- moment
- month
- moon
- orb
- parch
- phoebus
- photosphere
- quarter
- quinquennium
- radiance
- radiation
- rub
- scorch
- second
- semester
- session
- smoke
- sponge
- star
- stars
- sunlight
- sunshine
- swab
- taper
- term
- torch
- towel
- trimester
- twelvemonth
- week
- weekday
- wipe
- wither
- year
sun (v.)
The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung.
. . . . .
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all except their sun is set.
As she fled fast through sun and shade
The happy winds upon her play'd,
Blowing the ringlet from the braid.
He was exhal'd; his great Creator drew
His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.
I gin to be aweary of the sun.
Thoughts shut up want air,
And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.
An hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peered forth the golden window of the east.
When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood.
Virtue could see to do what virtue would
By her own radiant light, though sun and moon
Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self
Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude,
Where with her best nurse Contemplation
She plumes her feathers and lets grow her wings,
That in the various bustle of resort
Were all-to ruffled, and sometimes impair'd.
He that has light within his own clear breast
May sit i' th' centre and enjoy bright day;
But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts
Benighted walks under the midday sun.
To enlarge or illustrate this power and effect of love is to set a candle in the sun.
Annihilating all that's made
To a green thought in a green shade.
How commentators each dark passage shun,
And hold their farthing candle to the sun.
Neither the sun nor death can be looked at with a steady eye.
Souls made of fire, and children of the sun,
With whom revenge is virtue.
The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening paradise.
Courses even with the sun
Doth her mighty brother run.
Like our shadows,
Our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
As is the bud bit with an envious worm
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Small service is true service while it lasts.
Of humblest friends, bright creature! scorn not one:
The daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.
From morn
To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,—
A summer's day; and with the setting sun
Dropp'd from the Zenith like a falling star.
Dry sun, dry wind;
Safe bind, safe find.
Fair daffadills, we weep to see
You haste away so soon:
As yet the early rising sun
Has not attained his noon.
Let us not wonder if something happens which never was before, or if something doth not appear among us with which the ancients were acquainted.
Be ye angry, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath.
A narrow compass! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair;
Give me but what this riband bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round.
All plumed like estridges that with the wind
Baited like eagles having lately bathed;
Glittering in golden coats, like images;
As full of spirit as the month of May,
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer.
I'm weary of conjectures,—this must end 'em.
Thus am I doubly armed: my death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me:
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds.
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold.
As half in shade and half in sun
This world along its path advances,
May that side the sun's upon
Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances!
Ah, County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea.
The orange flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea.
The hills,
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.
Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place
(Portentous sight!) the owlet Atheism,
Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon,
Drops his blue-fring'd lids, and holds them close,
And hooting at the glorious sun in heaven
Cries out, "Where is it?"
Innumerable as the stars of night,
Or stars of morning, dewdrops which the sun
Impearls on every leaf and every flower.
But when the sun in all his state
Illumed the eastern skies,
She passed through Glory's morning-gate,
And walked in Paradise.
We wish that this column, rising towards heaven among the pointed spires of so many temples dedicated to God, may contribute also to produce in all minds a pious feeling of dependence and gratitude. We wish, finally, that the last object to the sight of him who leaves his native shore, and the first to gladden his who revisits it, may be something which shall remind him of the liberty and the glory of his country. Let it rise! let it rise, till it meet the sun in his coming; let the earliest light of the morning gild it, and parting day linger and play on its summit!
The richest monarch in the Christian world;
The sun in my own dominions never sets.
Knowledge, in truth, is the great sun in the firmament. Life and power are scattered with all its beams.
The sun had long since in the lap
Of Thetis taken out his nap,
And, like a lobster boil'd, the morn
From black to red began to turn.
Out of Gods blessing into the warme Sunne.
Let me leap out of the frying-pan into the fire; or, out of God's blessing into the warm sun.
I 'll example you with thievery:
The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction
Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief,
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun;
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves
The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief,
That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen
From general excrement: each thing's a thief.
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Let others hail the rising sun:
I bow to that whose course is run.
Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun.
The dews of the evening most carefully shun,—
Those tears of the sky for the loss of the sun.
I tell thee Love is Nature's second sun,
Causing a spring of virtues where he shines.
Count that day lost whose low descending sun
Views from thy hand no worthy action done.
Author unknown.
Mightier far
Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway
Of magic potent over sun and star,
Is Love, though oft to agony distrest,
And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's breast.
Pompey bade Sylla recollect that more worshipped the rising than the setting sun.
To sun myself in Huncamunca's eyes.
There sinks the nebulous star we call the sun.
Why should the brave Spanish soldier brag the sun never sets in the
Spanish dominions, but ever shineth on one part or other we have conquered
for our king?—
The richest monarch in the Christian world;
The sun in my own dominions never sets.
There is no new thing under the sun.
No sun, no moon, no morn, no noon,
No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day,
. . . . .
No road, no street, no t' other side the way,
. . . . .
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no buds.
When a man reproached him for going into unclean places, he said, "The sun too penetrates into privies, but is not polluted by them."
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
His honour and the greatness of his name
Shall be, and make new nations.
But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings.
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York,
And all the clouds that loured upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,—
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
The sun, which passeth through pollutions and itself remains as pure as before.
When he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
With thee conversing I forget all time,
All seasons, and their change,—all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glist'ring with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
After soft showers; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful ev'ning mild; then silent night
With this her solemn bird and this fair moon,
And these the gems of heaven, her starry train:
But neither breath of morn when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun
On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glist'ring with dew, nor fragrance after showers,
Nor grateful ev'ning mild, nor silent night
With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon
Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet.
Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun.
The sun, which passeth through pollutions and itself remains as pure as before.
Have you found your life distasteful?
My life did, and does, smack sweet.
Was your youth of pleasure wasteful?
Mine I saved and hold complete.
Do your joys with age diminish?
When mine fail me, I 'll complain.
Must in death your daylight finish?
My sun sets to rise again.
The setting sun, and music at the close,
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,
Writ in remembrance more than things long past.
He [Tiberius] upbraided Macro, in no obscure and indirect terms, "with forsaking the setting sun and turning to the rising."
The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.
Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down,
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
With here and there a violet bestrewn,
Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave;
And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave!
Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere.
When the sunne shineth, make hay.
Let us make hay while the sun shines.
The sun, which passeth through pollutions and itself remains as pure as before.
Men shut their doors against a setting sun.
I 'll example you with thievery:
The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction
Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief,
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun;
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves
The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief,
That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen
From general excrement: each thing's a thief.
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun
And the free maids that weave their thread with bones
Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.
Fabricius finds certain spots and clouds in the sun.
She stood breast-high amid the corn
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.
Oh, rather give me commentators plain,
Who with no deep researches vex the brain;
Who from the dark and doubtful love to run,
And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun.
As half in shade and half in sun
This world along its path advances,
May that side the sun's upon
Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances!
I saw two clouds at morning
Tinged by the rising sun,
And in the dawn they floated on
And mingled into one.
The sun to me is dark
And silent as the moon,
When she deserts the night
Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
Defer not till to-morrow to be wise,
To-morrow's sun to thee may never rise.
And thus I clothe my naked villany
With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ,
And seem a saint when most I play the devil.
True as the dial to the sun,
Although it be not shin'd upon.
True as the needle to the pole,
Or as the dial to the sun.
The sun, which passeth through pollutions and itself remains as pure as before.
Up rose the sonne, and up rose Emelie.
Her feet beneath her petticoat
Like little mice stole in and out,
As if they feared the light;
But oh, she dances such a way!
No sun upon an Easter-day
Is half so fine a sight.
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere.
Virtue could see to do what virtue would
By her own radiant light, though sun and moon
Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self
Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude,
Where with her best nurse Contemplation
She plumes her feathers and lets grow her wings,
That in the various bustle of resort
Were all-to ruffled, and sometimes impair'd.
He that has light within his own clear breast
May sit i' th' centre and enjoy bright day;
But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts
Benighted walks under the midday sun.
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees.
Like the stain'd web that whitens in the sun,
Grow pure by being purely shone upon.
The sun, which passeth through pollutions and itself remains as pure as before.
It's wiser being good than bad;
It's safer being meek than fierce;
It's fitter being sane than mad.
My own hope is, a sun will pierce
The thickest cloud earth ever stretched;
That after Last returns the First,
Though a wide compass round be fetched;
That what began best can't end worst,
Nor what God blessed once prove accurst.
From morn
To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,—
A summer's day; and with the setting sun
Dropp'd from the Zenith like a falling star.
Without the smile from partial beauty won,
Oh what were man?—a world without a sun.
