HOME > Search:sunrise 
Category： Author：novel
It had been a close and sultry day—one of the hottest of the dog-days—even out in the open country, where the dusky green leaves had never stirred upon their stems since the sunrise, and where the birds had found themselves too languid for any songs beyond a faint chirp now and then.
TAG：
Category： Author：novel
The contemplation of the wonders of the universe is always inspiring and uplifting—the crystalline purity of the sky, the splendor of the sunrise and sunset, the grandeur of the starry night, the fragrant forest, the smiling landscape, the tree, the flower, the boundless ocean, and all the countless manifestations of nature...
TAG：
Category： Author：novel
Shea had just beaten me at chess, as usual, and, also as usual, I had gleaned what questionable satisfaction I might by twitting him with this indication of failing mentality by calling his attention for the nth time to that theory, propounded by certain scientists, which is based upon the assertion that phenomenal chess players are a...
TAG：
Category： Author：novel
As for the youth who had tried to steal the white horse that the King owned, he was bound hand and foot and taken into the castle of the King. There he was thrown down beside the trestles of the great table, and the hot wax from the candles that lighted the supper board dripped down upon him. And it was told to him that at the morrow’s...
TAG：
Category： Author：novel
The night had come to an end. The new-born day waited for its quickening light in the silence that is never known on land — the silence before sunrise, in a calm at sea.
TAG：
Category： Author：Abraham Merritt
I raised my head, listening,— not only with my ears but with every square inch of my skin, waiting for recurrence of the sound that had awakened me. There was silence, utter silence. No soughing in the boughs of the spruces clustered around the little camp. No stirring of furtive life in the underbrush. Through the spires of the spruce...
TAG：
Category： Author：novel
SOON after sunrise, on a cloudy morning in the year 1881, a special messenger disturbed the repose of Dennis Howmore, at his place of residence in the pleasant Irish town of Ardoon. Well acquainted apparently with the way upstairs, the man thumped on a bed-room door, and shouted his message through it: “The master wants you, and mind ...
TAG：
Category： Author：Kate Douglas Wiggin
It was not long after sunrise, and Stephen Waterman, fresh from his dip in the river, had scrambled up the hillside from the hut in the alder-bushes where he had made his morning toilet. An early ablution of this sort was not the custom of the farmers along the banks of the Saco, but the Waterman house was hardly a stone's throw from ...
TAG：
Category： Author：novel
It is close upon daybreak. The great wall of pines and hemlocks that keep off the west wind from Stillwater stretches black and indeterminate against the sky. At intervals a dull, metallic sound, like the guttural twang of a violin string, rises form the frog-invested swamp skirting the highway. Suddenly the birds stir in their nests ...
TAG：
