Frank J. Wilstach, comp. A Dictionary of Similes. 1916.
R. D. Blackmore
Askew, like sheep through a hurdle.Bent like an old bruised lantern.Blue as the sky in spring.Bright as an iceberg.Brighter than the sun through wheat.Burrow like a weasel.Bursting like a bean-pod.Calm as deep rivers.Clogged like honey.Crackling as artillery.Dark as a wood.Delicately, as fingers play sad music.Flashing, like a newly-awakened flame.Flashed like the spray of a fountain.Flips away like whalebone from the finger.Fluttering like a raven wounded.Fresher than the day-star.Frizzled like a lawyer’s wig.Gentle as a turtle-dove.Gently as a rabbit goes.Gladdening to our eyes as the flowers in May.Gleamed upon the water like a bride at her looking-glass.Glistening, like a maid at her own ideas.Glistened like dormer-windows piled with snow.Gone as a shadow goes.Happy as a May-pole.Hazy, like an oil-lamp full of fungus.Innocent as an infant.Laughed like a bell.Leaped in the air like a shot rabbit.Lifting my heart to her, as the spring wind lifts the clouds.Light as cobwebs.Loud as a culverin.Louder than harvest thunderstorm.Motionless as a tombstone.Murmured like a shell.Quick, as a darted beam of light.Quiver, like a weed in water.Red as a plum.Rising like springs ingathered.Scared like a wild bird flies.Sharp, like the crack of a pistol.Shone like a cherry by candle-light.Simple as the flowers in the field.Simple as milking.Soft voice as a laughing dream.Soft as the breeze flitting over the flowers.Sparkling like the dancing of new stars.Spread like fingers.Sprightly, as a hayfield.Steep, like the ladder of a hay-mow.Stern as block of bogwood oak.Stick to it, like a clenched nail.Still as a log.Striped like a viper’s loins.Stuck to me like cobbler’s wax.Stuck like leeches.Suddenly, like a thunder-bolt.Sure as stars of hope.Sure as sunrise.Surely as fame belongs to earth.Swift as the summer lightning.Trembling, as sunshine comes through aspen-leaves.Trembled like a folded sheep at the bleating of her lamb.Tremble, like the trembling of an arch ere the key-stone is put in.Trembling, like water after sunset.Unuseful, as if void of mind.Upright as a young apple tree.Gruff voice, like the creaking of the gallows-chain.Wagging, like a bed of clover-leaves in the morning.Waiting, like a lamp-post.Warm as a cricket.Yellow as gamboge.