Quotes about warily
Hunter's Song
The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,
Ever sing merrily, merrily;
The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,
Hunters live so cheerily.
It was a stag, a stag of ten,
Bearing its branches sturdily;
He came silently down the glen,
Ever sing hardily, hardily.
It was there he met with a wounded doe,
She was bleeding deathfully;
She warned him of the toils below,
O so faithfully, faithfully!
He had an eye, and he could heed,
Ever sing so warily, warily;
He had a foot, and he could speed--
Hunters watch so narrowly.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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The Lady of the Lake: Canto IV. - The Prophecy
I.
The rose is fairest when 't is budding new,
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;
The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew
And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.
O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears,
I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave,
Emblem of hope and love through future years!'
Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave,
What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave.
II.
Such fond conceit, half said, half sung,
Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue.
All while he stripped the wild-rose spray,
His axe and bow beside him lay,
For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood
A wakeful sentinel he stood.
Hark!-on the rock a footstep rung,
And instant to his arms he sprung.
[...] Read more
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Like the herd animals we are, we sniff warily at the strange one among us.
Song--Spring
When buds of palm do burst and spread
Their downy feathers in the lane,
And orchard blossoms, white and red,
Breathe Spring delight for Autumn gain;
And the skylark shakes his wings in the rain;
O then is the season to look for a bride!
Choose her warily, woo her unseen;
For the choicest maids are those that hide
Like dewy violets under the green.
poem by George Meredith
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White Against White
A polar bear treads warily across the ice,
In search of food.
Anything that he can acquire, would well suffice,
If something’s viewed.
Out in this vast isolated arctic expanse,
Where winds howl loud.
He waits, aloof, facing the roar in solid stance,
So strong and proud.
White against white, is seen, in this cold world of snow.
He travels far.
Cruising this frosted landscape where blue waters flow.
His Shangri La.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Earle Birney
No agèd tourist you
Explorer guide and ever young
Who in a magic land
Where trembling minds step warily
Can see horizons out of sight
Of ordinary men
But are you not like us
Do we not follow where you lead
And are we really strangers in this realm
That seems so surely ours
You take our souls
And show them glimpses of themselves
Yet as a tourist guide
You hardly fill the role
You seek no token of our thanks
But what a gratitude there is
And envy too
[...] Read more
poem by Roger Clark
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So that the world will not perish
Where we watch the willow sway, like a lullaby
and the fireflies dance in fluid streaks above the river
Where the water trickles and splashes happily
and the deer creep warily to the edge to gaze at their reflection
Where the winter of our past meets with our summery future
and the present holds dearly to our soul
There we walk together, hand in hand, and kiss
and make love in the afterglow of day
There we dance under the crystal stars
and watch the waves cover one another
All so that the world will not perish around us...
...without us
poem by Poet Dragon
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Braggart
With careful step to keep his balance up
He reels on warily along the street,
Slabbering at mouth and with a staggering stoop
Mutters an angry look at all he meets.
Bumptious and vain and proud he shoulders up
And would be something if he knew but how;
To any man on earth he will not stoop
But cracks of work, of horses and of plough.
Proud of the foolish talk, the ale he quaffs,
He never heeds the insult loud that laughs:
With rosy maid he tries to joke and play,--
Who shrugs and nettles deep his pomp and pride.
And calls him 'drunken beast' and runs away--
King to himself and fool to all beside.
poem by John Clare
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We Are Getting to the End
We are getting to the end of visioning
The impossible within this universe,
Such as that better whiles may follow worse,
And that our race may mend by reasoning.
We know that even as larks in cages sing
Unthoughtful of deliverance from the curse
That holds them lifelong in a latticed hearse,
We ply spasmodically our pleasuring.
And that when nations set them to lay waste
Their neighbours' heritage by foot and horse,
And hack their pleasant plains in festering seams,
They may again, - not warily, or from taste,
But tickled mad by some demonic force. -
Yes. We are getting to the end of dreams!
poem by Thomas Hardy
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The Air Plant
Grand Cayman
This tuft that thrives on saline nothingness,
Inverted octopus with heavenward arms
Thrust parching from a palm-bole hard by the cove⎯
A bird almost⎯of almost bird alarms,
Is pulmonary to the wind that jars
Its tentacles, horrific in their lurch.
The lizard’s throat, held bloated for a fly,
Balloons but warily from this throbbing perch.
The needles and hack-saws of cactus bleed
A milk of earth when stricken off the stalk;
But this,⎯defenseless, thornless, sheds no blood,
Almost no shadow⎯but the air’s thin talk.
Angelic Dynamo! Ventriloquist of the Blue!
While beachward creeps the shark-swept Spanish Main
By what conjunctions do the winds appoint
[...] Read more
poem by Harold Hart Crane
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