"Lady's bower" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... all. But it was Trina's room. McTeague was in his lady's bower; it seemed to him a little nest, intimate, discreet. He felt hideously out of place. He was an intruder; he, with his enormous feet, his colossal bones, his crude, brutal gestures. The mere weight of his limbs, he was sure, would crush the little ...
— McTeague • Frank Norris
... we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to lee-ward; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this ...
— The Song of Hiawatha - An Epic Poem • Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
... in its shady nook, Like lady's bower shadowed o'er— With clustering trees—and creeping plants That cling around the rustic door, The rough hewn steps that lend their aid To reach the shady cool recess, Where humble duty spreads a scene That hourly comfort learns ...
— Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 3 September 1848 • Various
... all stray news about the country. He was an abstract and chronicle of the time; and could tell you where the Earl of Lancaster mustered his forces, the day of their march, and the very purposes and projects of that turbulent noble. Even the secrets of my lady's bower did not elude the prying of this indefatigable artist; at any rate, he had the credit of knowing all that he assumed, which amounted very much to the same thing as though his knowledge were unlimited: a nod and a wink supplying the place of intelligence, when his wondering neophytes grew disagreeably ...
— Traditions of Lancashire, Volume 1 (of 2) • John Roby
... true or not Let bards declare who've seen 'em— That Love and Time have only got One pair of wings between 'em. In Courtship's first delicious hour, The boy full oft can spare 'em; So, loitering in his lady's bower, He lets the gray-beard wear 'em. Then is Time's hour of play; Oh, how be flies, ...
— The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore • Thomas Moore et al
... steep promontory gazed The stranger, raptured and amazed, And, "What a scene were here," he cried, 280 "For princely pomp, or churchman's pride! On this bold brow, a lordly tower; In that soft vale, a lady's bower; On yonder meadow, far away, The turrets of a cloister gray; 285 How blithely might the bugle-horn Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn! How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute Chime, when the groves were ...
— Lady of the Lake • Sir Walter Scott |
