| Author |
Quotes |
| David Garrick | Let others hail the rising sun: I bow to that whose course is run. |
| Frederic William Farrar | Such words fall to often on our cold and careless ears with the triteness of long familiarity; but to Octavia . . . they seemed to be written in sunbeams. |
| James Macpherson | Thou shalt sleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. |
| James Macpherson | Whence are thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth, in thy awful beauty; the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western waves. But thou, thyself, movest alone. |
| John Jortin | The great duties of life are written with a sunbeam. |
| Nathaniel Lee | When the sun sets, shadows, that showed at noon But small, appear most long and terrible. |
| William Cullen Bryant | Pleasantly, between the pelting showers, the sunshine gushes down. |
| William Ernest Henley | Failing yet gracious, Slow pacing, soon homing, A patriarch that strolls Through the tents of his children, The sun as he journeys His round on the lower Ascents of the blue, Washes the roofs And the hillsides with clarity. |
| William Falconer | High in his chariot glow'd the lamp of day. |
| Francis Bacon | The sun, which passeth through pollutions and itself remains as pure as before. |
| John Milton | The gay motes that people the sunbeams. |
| John Dryden | Behold him setting in his western skies, The shadows lengthening as the vapours rise. |
| John Dryden | The glorious lamp of heaven, the radiant sun, Is Nature's eye. |
| John Dryden | Out of the solar walk and Heaven's highway. |
| Philip James Bailey | See the sun! God's crest upon His azure shield, the Heavens. |
| Philip James Bailey | The sun, centre and sire of light, The keystone of the world-built arch of heaven. |
| Philip James Bailey | See the gold sunshine patching, And streaming and streaking across The gray-green oaks, and catching, By its soft brown beard, the moss. |
| Thomas Fuller | In climes beyond the solar road. |
| Thomas Hood | Father of rosy day, No more thy clouds of incense rise, But waking flow'rs, At morning hours, Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies. |
| Thomas Hood | She stood breast-high amid the corn, Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won. |
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