C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.

Dew

Earth’s liquid jewelry, wrought of air.

Bailey.

Dew depends not on Parliament.

James Otis.

None can give us dew but God.

Bishop Reynolds.

The dew-bead gem, of earth and sky begotten.

George Eliot.

Liquid pearl.

Shakespeare.

And every dew-drop paints a bow.

Tennyson.

The dew waits for no voice to call it to the sun.

Rev. Joseph Parker.

As fresh as morning dew distill’d on flowers.

Shakespeare.

Every dew-drop and rain-drop had a whole heaven within it.

Longfellow.

Gems which adorn the beauteous tresses of the weeping morn.

Poole.

Dew-drops are the gems of morning but the tears of mournful eve!

Coleridge.

Those tears of the sky for the loss of the sun.

Chesterfield.

I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.

Shakespeare.

’Tis of the tears which stars weep, sweet with joy.

Bailey.

Or stars of morning, dew-drops which the sun
Impearls on every leaf and every flower.

Milton.

The starlight dews all silently their tears of love instill.

Byron.

Hushed as the falling dews, whose noiseless showers impearl the folded leaves of evening flowers.

Congreve.

That same dew, which sometime on the buds was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls, stood now within the pretty flowerets’ eyes, like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.

Shakespeare.

Within the rose I found a trembling tear,
Close curtained in a gloom of crimson night
By tender petals from the outer light.

Boyesen.

The dew-drop in the breeze of morn,
Trembling and sparkling on the thorn,
Falls to the ground, escapes the eye,
Yet mounts on sunbeams to the sky.

Montgomery.

Dew-drops, Nature’s tears, which she
Sheds in her own breast for the fair which die.
The sun insists on gladness; but at night,
When he is gone, poor Nature loves to weep.

Bailey.

See how the orient dew
Shed from the bosom of the morn
Into the blowing roses
(Yet careless of its mansion new
For the clear region where ’twas born)
Round in itself incloses,
And in its little globe’s extent
Frames, as it can, its native element.

Andrew Marvell.

A globe of dew
Filling, in the morning new,
Some eyed flower, whose young leaves waken
On an unimagined world;
Constellated suns unshaken,
Orbits measureless are furl’d
In that frail and fading sphere,
With ten millions gathered there
To tremble, gleam and disappear.

Shelley.

There is dew in one flower and not in another, because one opens its cup and takes it in, while the other closes itself and the drop runs off. So God rains goodness and mercy as wide as the dew, and if we lack them, it is because we do not open our hearts to receive them.

Aughey.

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