The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark.
Quotes about rustling (15 Quotes)
the silence that guards the tomb does not reveal God's secret in the obscurity of the coffin, and the rustling of the branches whose roots suck the body's elements do not tell the mysteries of the grave, by the agonized sighs of my heart announce to the living the drama which love, beauty, and death have performed.
A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast. And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While like the eagle free Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee.
When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves With minute drops from off the eaves.
Why should we not recognize in the lightning, the thunder, and the storm wind, the approach of an overwhelming Power, and in the scent of flowers and the gently rustling zephyr the presence of a Being full of love.
All it has experienced, tasted, suffered The course of years, generations of animals, Oppression, recovery, friendship of sun and - Wind Will pour forth each day in the song Of its rustling foliage, in the friendly Gesture of its gently swaying crown, In the delicate sweet scent of resinous Sap moistening the sleep-glued buds, And the eternal game of lights and Shadows it plays with itself, content.
Boredom is the dream bird that hatches the egg of experience. A rustling in the leaves drives him away.
The rustling of the silk is discontinued, Dust drifts over the courtyard, There is not sound of footfall, and the leaves Scurry into heaps and lie still, And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.
O, this life; Is nobler than attending for a check, Richer than doing nothing for a bribe, Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk.
We can speak without voice to the trees and the clouds and the waves of the sea. Without words they respond through the rustling of leaves and the moving of clouds and the murmuring of the sea.
It's like the Wild West out here, but they're not just rustling cows anymore.
A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself. For the traitor appears not a traitor he speaks in accents familiar to his victims, and he wears their face and their arguments, he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the soul of a nation, he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of the city, he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist. A murderer is less to fear. The traitor is the plague.
My apprehensions come in crowds I dread the rustling of the grass The very shadows of the clouds Have power to shake me as they pass I question things and do not find One that will answer to my mind And all the world appears unkind.
This is my Father's world, And to my list'ning ears, All nature sings, And round me rings The music of the spheres. This is my Father's world, I rest me in the thought Of rocks and trees, Of skies and seas - His hand the wonders wrought. This is my Father's world, The birds their carols raise, The morning light, The lily white, Declare their Maker's praise. This is my Father's world, He shines in all that's fair In the rustling grass I hear Him pass, He speaks to me ev'rywhere. This is my Father's world, O let me ne'er forget That though the wrong Seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet. This my Father's world, Why should my heart be sad The Lord is King - Let the heavens ring God reigns let the earth be glad. Amen.
There's beginning to be some traction. If you use the metaphor of the forest at night, there's a lot of small animals rustling around in the leaves.