Take a straw and throw it up into the air, you may see by that which way the wind is.
What wind blew you hither, Pistol?
Not the ill wind which blows no man to good.
Henry IV. Pt. II. Act V. Sc. 3. L. 89.
| seealso = (See also Heywood)
| topic =
| page = 874
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
Henry VI. Pt. III. Act II. Sc. 5. L. 55.
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's
being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes.
Shelley—Ode to the West Wind. Pt. I.
O wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
Shelley—Ode to the West Wind. Pt. V.
Cease, rude Boreas! blustering railed
G. A. Stevens—The Storm.
| seealso = (See also {{sc|Bancks)
There are, indeed, few merrier spectacles than
that of many windmills bickering together in a
fresh breeze over a woody country; their halting
alacrity of movement, their pleasant business,
making bread all day with uncouth gesticulation;
their air, gigantically human, as of a creature
half alive, put a spirit of romance into the tamest
landscape.
Stevenson—Foreigner at Home.
Emblem of man, who, after all his moaning
And strain of dire immeasurable strife,
Has yet this consolation, all atoning—
Life, as a windmill, grinds the bread of Life.
De Tabley—The Windmill.
Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea!
| author = Tennyson
| work = Princess. Song. End of Pt. II.
A fresher Gale
Begins to wave the wood, and stir the stream,
Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of corn;
While the Quail clamors for his running mate.
Thomson—Seasons. Summer. L. 1,655.
• Yet true it is as cow chews cud,
And trees at spring do yield forth bud,
Except wind stands as never it stood,
It is an ill wind turns none to good.
Tusser—Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandrie. Description of the Properties of
Winds. Ch.XII.
| seealso = (See also {{sc|Heywood)
I dropped my pen; and listened to the wind
That sang of trees uptorn and vessels tost;
A midnight harmony and wholly lost
To the general sense of men by chains confined
Of business, care, or pleasure,—or resigned
To timely sleep.
Wohdswobth—Sonnet. Composed while the
author was engaged in writing a tract occasioned by the Convention of Cintra.
WINDFLOWER
Anemone
Or, bide thou where the poppy blows
With windflowers frail and fair.
Bryant—The Arctic Lover.
The little windflower, whose just opened eye
Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
Bryant—A Winter Piece.
The starry, fragile windflower,
Poised above in airy grace,
Virgin white, suffused with blushes,
Shyly droops her lovely face.
Elaine Goodale-—The First Flowers.
Thou lookest up with meek, confiding eye
Upon the clouded smile of April's face,
Unharmed though Winter stands uncertain by,
Eyeing with jealous glance each opening grace.
Jones Very—The Windflower.
- Wine and Spirits ##
WINE AND SPIRITS
(See also Drinking)
I hang no ivie out to sell my wine;
The nectar of good wits will sell itself.
Allot—England's Parnassus. Sonnet to the
Reader.
| seealso = (See also Lyly, Syrus)
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 15
| text = Firm and erect the Caledonian stood;
Sound was his mutton, and his claret good;
"Let him drink port!" the English statesman
cried:
He drank the poison, and his spirit died.
Anon. In Dodd's Epigrammatists. (1870)
| topic =
| page = 874
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Old Simon the cellarer keeps a rare store
Of Malmsey and Malvoisie.
G. W. Bellamy—Simon the Cellarer.
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise,
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise,
Twill make a man forget his wo;
'Twill heighten all his joy.
Burns—John Barleycorn. St. 13.
So Noah, when he anchor'd safe on
The mountain's top, his lofty haven,
And all the passengers he bore
Were on the new world set ashore,
He made it next his chief design
To plant and propagate a vine,
Which since has overwhelm'd and drown'd
Far greater numbers, on dry ground,
Of wretched mankind, one by one,
Than all the flood before had done.
Butler—Satire Upon Drunkenness. L. 105.
{{Hoyt quote
| num = | text = <poem>Few things surpass old wine; and they may
preach Who please, the more because they preach in
vain,—
