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Frank J. Wilstach, comp. A Dictionary of Similes. 1916.

Arthur Symons

Like the downy wing of sleep.

Pale as the skies.

Your voice was gay
As the voice of a bird in the dawn of a day
On a sunshiny tree.

Pain gnaws at my heart like a rat that gnaws at a bean
In the dusty dark of a ghost-frequented house.

As the unwilling herald of the king.

Immortal as the sun.

Infinite as the soul.

Lonely as in a garden-close
Slumbers the solitary rose.

A red mouth like a wound.

Murmurous as the August bees
That fill the forest deep
Around the roots of trees.

Old as the earth is old.

Skies as pale, as moonlight in a shadowy sea.

Proud as a child who will what he would.

Scatters as leaves blown down the wind.

As a voiceless crying of old love
That died and never spoke.

Simple as breath.

As thoughts of beauty sleeping.

Sweet as the voice of a mountain brook.

Sweet as the blushing planet of the dawn.

Swift as eternity.

Tenderly as a bee that sips,
Your kisses settle on my lips.

An old thought turns with the old tune in my head
As a windmill turns in the wind on an empty sky.

Uncertain as a child’s swift moods.

Bernhardt’s … voice is like a thing detachable from herself, a thing which she takes in her hands like a musical instrument, playing on the stops cunningly with her fingers.

Whimpers like a cur.