breast

She stood breast high amid the corn, Clasped by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.

—Honorius of Autun

They call her a young country, but they lie: She is the last of lands, the emptiest, A woman beyond her change of life, a breast Still tender but within the womb is dry.

—Hope, A(lec) D(erwent)

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

—Hopkins, SirAnthony

Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.

—Congreve,William

Oh happy state! when souls each other draw, When love is liberty, and nature, law: All then is full, possessing, and possessed, No craving void left aching in the breast.

—Pope, Alexander

He resolved to lead Britain and her fading empire in one last great struggle†to arm the nation, not only with weapons but also with the mace of honor, creating in every English breast a soul beneath the ribs of death. 544

—Manchester,William Raymond

What art thou that dost creep into my breast And dar'st not see my face? Show forth thyself. I feel a pair of fiery wings displayed Hither, from thence.You shall not tarry there; Up and begone. If thou beest love, begone.

—Beaumont, Francis and Fletcher,John

In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast; In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnished dove; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

—Tennyson

There is a passion for hunting something deeply implanted in the human breast.

—Dickens, CharlesJohn Huffam

And the rose like a nymph to the bath addressed, Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast, Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air The soul of her beautyand love lay bare.

—Shelley, Percy Bysshe

For all the startled scaly tribes that slink Into his coverts, and each fearless link Of dancing insects forged upon his breast.

—Wordsworth,William

   And as the moon rose higher the unessential houses begantomelt awayuntilgradually Ibecameaware ofthe old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors' eyesöa fresh, green breast of the new world† For a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.

—Fitzgerald, F(rancis) Scott Key

He looks to me to be in heaven, that manwho sits across from you and listensnear you toyour soft speaking, your laughing lovely: that, I vow, makes the heart leap in my breast; for watching you a moment, speech fails me, my tongue is paralysed, at once a light fire runs beneath my skin, my eyes are blinded, and my ears drumming, the sweat pours down me, and Ishake all over, sallower than grass: I feel as if I'm not far off dying.

—Sappho   7c

My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow, An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze. Two hundred to adore each breast: But thirty thousand to the rest. An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For Lady you deserve this state; Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near: And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.

—Marvell, Andrew

The sun hums down through the cotton flowers of her dress into the bell of her heart and buzzes in the honey there and couches and kisses, lazy-loving and boozed, in her red-berried breast.

—Thomas, Dylan Marlais

The silver swan, who living had no note, When death approached, unlocked her silent throat; Leaning her breast against the reedy shore, Thus sung her first and last, and sung no more: 'Farewell, all joys; Oh death, come close mine eyes; More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise.'

—Gibbons, Orlando

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 too ruffl'd, and sometimes impair'd. He that has light within his own clear breast May sit i'the centre, and enjoy bright day, But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the midday sun; Himself is his own dungeon.

—Milton,John

One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake.

—Browning, Robert

Why haven't Igot a real'home'öa real lifeöwhyhaven't Igot a Chinesenurse with green trousers and two babies who rush at me and clasp my knees? I'm not a girlöI'm a woman. I want things†all this love and joy that fights for outletöand all this life drying up, like milk in an old breast.

—Beauchamp

This wild swan of a world is no hunter's game. Better bullets than yours would miss the white breast, Better mirrors than yours would crack in the flame.

—Jeffers, (John) Robinson

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave the lustre of midday to objects below, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

—Moore, Clement

King of comforts, King of life, Thou hast cheered me, And when fears and doubts were rife, Thou hast cleared me. Not a hook in all my breast But thou fill'st it, Not a thought in all my rest But thou kill'st it. Wherefore with my utmost strength I will praise thee, And as thou giv'st line, and length, I will raise thee.

—Vaughan, Henry

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly.

—Lovelace, Richard

Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeleine's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory like a saint: She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven.

—Keats,John

   Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

—Tennyson

What use the green river, the gold place, if time and death pinned human in the pocket of my land not rest from taking underground the green all-willowed and white rose and bean flower and morning-mist picnic of song in pepper-pot breast of thrush?

—Frame,Janet Paterson also known as Jean PatersonFrame

Love, that doth reign and live within my thought, And built his seat within my captive breast, Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought, Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.

—Surrey, Henry Howard, Earl of

   I would that with sleepy, soft embraces The sea would fold meöwould find me rest In luminous shades of her secret places, In depths where her marvels are manifest; So the earth beneath her should not discover My hidden couchönor the heaven above herö As a strong love shielding a weary lover, I would have her shield me with shining breast.

—Gordon, Adam Lindsay

Onlyöbut this is rareö When a beloved hand is laid in ours, When, jaded with the rush and glare Of the interminable hours, Our eyes can in another's eyes read clear, When our world-deafened ear Is by the tones of a loved voice caressedö A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast, And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again. The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain, And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.

—Arnold, Matthew

O fat white woman whom nobody loves, Why do you walk through the fields in gloves, When the grass is soft as the breast of doves And shivering-sweet to the touch? Oh why do you walk through the fields in gloves, Missing so much and so much? See Chesterton 213:99.

—Cornford, Frances ne¤  e Darwin

Jesu, the very thought of Thee With sweetness fills the breast.

—Caswall, Edward

In each she marks her image full exprest, But chief, inTibbald's monster-breeding breast; Sees Gods with Daemons in strange league ingage, And earth, and heav'n, and hell her battles wage.

—Pope, Alexander

Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to My breast.

—Herbert, George

And now, when I have summed up all my store, Thinking (so I myself deceive) So rich a chaplet thence to weave As never yet the King of Glory wore, Alas! I find the serpent old, That, twining in his speckled breast, About the flowers disguised does fold With wreaths of fame and interest.

—Marvell, Andrew

In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.

—Gray,Thomas

Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt, Dispraise, or blame, nothing but well and fair, And what may quiet us in a death so noble.

—Milton,John

Wee, sleeket, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an'chase thee, Wi'murd'ring pattle!

—Burns, Robert

Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood isrunning money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!

—Ginsberg, Allen

London, hast thou accused me Of breach of laws, the root of strife? Within whose breast did boil to see, So fervent hot, thy dissolute life, That even the hate of sins that grow Within thy wicked walls so rife, For to break forth did convert so That terror could it not repress.

—Surrey, Henry Howard, Earl of

Our colonel comes from Brian's race, His wounds are in his breast and face.

—Davis,Thomas Osborne