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


To sigh, yet feel no pain.


Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.


  • He sighed;—the next resource is the full moon,
  • Where all sighs are deposited; and now
  • It happen’d luckily, the chaste orb shone.
  • Byron.

    My soul has rest, sweet sigh! alone in thee.


  • Sped the soft intercourse from soul to soul
  • And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
  • Pope.

  • Sighs
  • Which perfect Joy, perplexed for utterance,
  • Stole from her sister Sorrow.
  • Tennyson.

  • But sighs subside, and tears (e’en widows’) shrink,
  • Like Arno in the summer, to a shallow
  • So narrow as to shame their wintry brink,
  • Which threatens inundations deep and yellow!
  • Such diff’rence do a few months make. You’d think
  • Grief a rich field that never would lie fallow;
  • No more it doth; its ploughs but change their boys,
  • Who furrow some new soil to sow for joys.
  • Byron.

  • Yet sighes, deare sighes, indeede true friends you are
  • That do not leave your left friend at the wurst,
  • But, as you with my breast, I oft have nurst
  • So, gratefull now, you waite upon my care.
  • Sir Philip Sidney.