My depth of purse is not so great Nor yet my bibliophilic greed, That merely buying doth elate: The books I buy I like to read: Still e'en when dawdling in a mead, Beneath a cloudless summer sky, By bank of Thames, or Tyne, or Tweed, The books I read — I like to buy.
- A. Edward Newton
topic: Summer, Book, Sky, Thames, Tweed
The weather behaved itself. In the spring, the little flowers came out obediently in the meads, and the dew sparkled, and the birds sang. In the summer it was beautifully hot for no less than four months, and, if it did rain just enough for agricultural purposes, they managed to arrange it so that it rained while you were in bed. In the autumn the leaves flamed and rattled before the west winds, tempering their sad adieu with glory. And in the winter, which was confined by statute to two months, the snow lay evenly, three feet thick, but never turned into slush.
- T. H. White
topic: Summer, Spring, Rain, Adieu, Mead
Any man that walks the mead In bud, or blade, or bloom, may find, According as his humors lead, A meaning suited to his mind.
- Alfred Lord Tennyson
source: Alfred Tennyson Tennyson, Baron, Alfred Lord Tennyson (2014). “Fifty Poems”, p.131, Cambridge University Press
topic: Nature, Men, Mind, Mead
If the layman cannot participate in decision making, he will have to turn himself over, essentially blind, to a hermetic elite. ... [The fundamental question becomes] are we still capable of self-government and therefore freedom? Margaret Mead wrote in a 1959 issue of Daedalus about scientists elevated to the status of priests. Now there is a name for this elevation, when you are in the hands of-one hopes-a benevolent elite, when you have no control over your political decisions. From the point of view of John Locke, the name for this is slavery.
- Gerald Holton
source: "Where is Science Taking Us? Gerald Holton Maps the Possible Routes". The Chronicle of Higher Education, May 18, 1981.
topic: Freedom, Names, Issues, Benevolent, Layman
These are the forgeries of jealousy; And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.
- William Shakespeare
source: William Shakespeare (1835). “The Beauties of Shakspeare”, p.58
topic: Summer, Sports, Beach, Forgery, Mead
Nature, exerting an unwearied power, Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower; Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads.
- William Cowper
source: William Cowper (1855). “The complete poetical works of William Cowper, with life and critical notice of his writings”, p.14
topic: Nature, Flower, Giving, Mead
Let us away, my love, with happy speed; There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.
- John Keats
source: John Keats (2015). “The Complete Poetry of John Keats: Ode on a Grecian Urn + Ode to a Nightingale + Hyperion + Endymion + The Eve of St. Agnes + Isabella + Ode to Psyche + Lamia + Sonnets and more from one of the most beloved English Romantic poets”, p.660, e-artnow
topic: Home, Eye, Southern, Mead, Moors
When winter stern, his gloomy front uprears, A sable void the barren earth appears; The meads no more their former verdure boast, Fast-bound their streams, and all their beauty lost; The herds, the flocks, in icy garments mourn, and wildly murmur for the Spring's return; From snow-topp'd hills the whirlwinds keenly blow, Howl through the woods, and pierce the vales below, Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies, Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies.
- George Crabbe
topic: Spring, Winter, Blow, Mead
Simplicity of life, even the barest, is not a misery, but the very foundation of refinement.
- William Morris
source: William Morris, Norman Kelvin (1999). “William Morris on Art and Socialism”, p.77, Courier Corporation
topic: Simple, Simplicity, Foundation, Refinement, Arts And Crafts
Speak not, move not, but listen, the sky is full of gold. No ripple on the river, no stir in field or fold, All gleams but naught doth glisten, but the far-off unseen sea. Forget days past, heart broken, put all memory by! No grief on the green hillside, no pity in the sky, Joy that may not be spoken fills mead and flower and tree.
- William Morris
topic: Memories, Flower, Moving, Glisten, Mead
And see the rivers how they run Through woods and meads, in shade and sun, Sometimes swift, sometimes slow, Wave succeeding wave, they go A various journey to the deep, Like human life to endless sleep!
- John Dyer
source: John Dyer (1822). “The Poems of J. D. The Life of J. D. by Dr. Johnson. The British Poets, Etc”, p.120
topic: Running, Sleep, Journey, Mead
Shall I, wasting in despair,Die because a woman's fair?Or make pale my cheeks with care,'Cause another's rosy are?Be she fairer than the day,Or the flowery meads in May,If she be not so to me,What care I how fair she be?
- George Wither
source: George Wither (1968). “The poetry of George Wither”, Ams Pr Inc
topic: Despair, Care, May, Mead
May, queen of blossoms, And fulfilling flowers, With what pretty music Shall we charm the hours? Wilt thou have pipe and reed, Blown in the open mead? Or to the lute give heed In the green bowers.
- Edward Thurlow, 1st Baron Thurlow
source: Edward Thurlow, “May”
topic: Queens, Flower, Giving, May Day, Spring May
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burrs, Losing both beauty and utility.
- William Shakespeare
source: 'Henry V' (1599) act 5, sc. 2, l. 44
topic: Weed, Green, Docks, Scythes, Thistles
Go along, go along quickly, and set all you have on the table for us. We don't want doughnuts, honey buns, poppy cakes, and other dainties; bring us a whole sheep, serve a goat and forty-year old mead! And plenty of vodka, not vodka with all sorts of fancies, not with raisins and flavorings, but pure foaming vodka, that hisses and bubbles like mad.
- Nikolai Gogol
topic: Sheep, Years, Cake, Raisins, Forty Years Old