"Marigold" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... "Yes. I took Marigold to the stable, and spoke to Mrs. Marsh about a room, and then I walked up to see you and Phil. How is he, by ...
— Clover • Susan Coolidge
... th' lass—ha! ha!—every word as I tell thee, comrade—saith she, "Methinks, my lord, if my work hold no better than that—methinks," saith she, "'twere as well thou went for th' shoeing o' thy horse to Timothy Makeshift, as lives in Marigold Lane," saith she. "For if it come to th' ears o' others how that I will shoe a horse one day, and th' next how that he will cast th' shoe—if it so be known," saith she, "no more custom will I get to keep my father and mother in ...
— A Brother To Dragons and Other Old-time Tales • Amelie Rives
... festooned each swaying limb, weaving canopies against a mottled sky of blue and white; morning-glories nodded greeting from the hedges, while forest floors were carpeted with the red of geranium, yellow of marigold and purple ...
— The Greater Love • George T. McCarthy
... Adonis[obs3], Antionous[obs3], Narcissus. peacock, butterfly; garden; flower of, pink of; bijou; jewel &c. (ornament) 847; work of art. flower, flow'ret gay[obs3], wildflower; rose[flowers: list], lily, anemone, asphodel, buttercup, crane's bill, daffodil, tulip, tiger lily, day lily, begonia, marigold, geranium, lily of the valley, ranunculus[ISA:herb@flowering], rhododendron, windflower. pleasurableness &c 829. beautifying; landscaping, landscape gardening; decoration &c. 847; calisthenics|!. [person who is beautiful] beauty; hunk [of men]. V. be beautiful &c. adj.; shine, beam, bloom; ...
— Roget's Thesaurus
... garden was Mrs. Drewitt, a fat little old lady in a flaming kimono and spectacles. She wears her hair as your Aunt Matilda does, stuck to her forehead in scrolls. 'Water curls,' I think, is the technical term. She was holding the head of a dejected marigold while a native propped it up with a stick. It seemed she remembered my mother, and we spent a delightful tea-time in a garden which was a part of the same dream as the phantom wall. Then the old ...
— New Faces • Myra Kelly
... heart of a perfect day; when even a return of the summer warmth had a suspicion of hectic,—on one of these days Sarah Walker was missed with the bees and the butterflies. For two days her voice had not been heard in hall or corridor, nor had the sunshine of her French marigold head lit up her familiar places. The two days were days of relief, yet mitigated with a certain uneasy apprehension of the return of Sarah Walker, or—more alarming thought!—the Sarah Walker element in a more appalling form. So strong was this impression that an unhappy infant who unwittingly ...
— By Shore and Sedge • Bret Harte
... is like a dear old lady's garden of marigold and bleeding-heart. Flushes of sweetpeas ripple along its picket fences and off toward the backyards are long grape-arbors, in autumn their great fruit-clusters ripening to purple frost. Come winter there is almost an instant shriveling to naked stalk, and the ...
— Gaslight Sonatas • Fannie Hurst
... window filled with late tracery. No towers at the west end. East end, a polygon, as usual.—This church, which is well worthy of an attentive study, is quite distinct in character from the churches in the east of France: it has no marigold window; no row of niches over the portal; no massed door-way; so that the general outline of the front agrees wholly with the earliest pointed style. But the exterior is more chaste than any thing we have in England; and its ...
— Architectural Antiquities of Normandy • John Sell Cotman
... who are in favour with their stars Of public honour and proud titles boast, Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread But as the marigold at the sun's eye, And in themselves their pride lies buried, For at a frown they in their glory die. The painful warrior famoused for fight, After a thousand victories once foil'd, Is from the book of honour razed quite, ...
— Shakespeare's Sonnets • William Shakespeare
... hug their ruddy fruit to their own bosoms, and Frost, the cormorant, will grab it all, since June disdains the proffered gift, and will not touch them with her tender lips. The money-plants are growing pale, and biting off their finger-tips with impatience. The marigold whispers his suspicion over to the balsam-buds, and neither ventures to make a move, quite sure there is something wrong. The scarlet tassel-flower utterly refuses to unfold his brave plumes. The ...
— Gala-days • Gail Hamilton
... in rank and file, seemed to be marching upon them like platoons of soldiers, with detonations of color that dazzled their peeping eyes; and, indeed, the whole garden seemed charging with its mass of riotous bloom upon the hedge. They could scarcely take in details of marigold and phlox and pinks and London-pride and cock's-combs, and prince's-feather's waving ...
— Evelina's Garden • Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
... beheld in the long marigold-scented twilight and whispering night, loafing round the little house with California, who un-folded himself like a lotus to the moon, or in the little boarded bunk that was our bedroom, swap-ping tales with Portland and the ...
— American Notes • Rudyard Kipling
... of a reasonable use of the botanical name is, that it does not deceive us. Our primrose is not the English primrose, any more than it was our robin who tucked up the babes in the wood; our cowslip is not the English cowslip, it is the English marsh-marigold,—Tennyson's "wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray." The pretty name of Azalea means something definite; but its rural name of Honeysuckle confounds under that name flowers without even an external resemblance,—Azalea, Diervilla, Lonioera, Aquilegia,—just ...
— Atlantic Monthly, Volume 7, Issue 42, April, 1861 • Various
... of marigold and phlox, Where the box Borders with its glossy green the ancient walks, There's a voice that talks Of the human hopes that bloomed and withered here Year by year,— Dreams of joy, that brightened all the labouring hours, Fading ...
— Music and Other Poems • Henry van Dyke |
