The Quote Garden ™
I dig old books. ™
Quotations about Sunrises, Sunsets,
and Pink & Fiery-Color Clouds
Truly, were I every evening to depict sunrise, and every morning to see it, still I should cry, like the children, Once more, once more! ~Jean Paul Friedrich Richter, Hesperus, or Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days: A Biography, translated from German by Charles T. Brooks, 1865
The gods had a picnic supper to-night
Sitting around a blazing fire—
I saw the smoke and rosy flame
Over in the west.
I wanted to watch them, but as I went nearer
They let the fire go out.
~P. P., "Sunset," Poems by Three Friends, 1924
I count myself lucky, having long ago won a lottery paid to me in seven sunrises a week for life. ~Robert Brault, rbrault.blogspot.com
I'll tell you how the Sun rose –
A Ribbon at a time....
~Emily Dickinson, c.1860
The sunrise opened above them like some cosmic explosion, shining and shattering and yet silent; as if the world were blown to pieces without a sound. Round the rays of the victorious sun swept a sort of rainbow of confused and conquered colours — brown and blue and green and flaming rose-colour; as though gold were driving before it all the colours of the world. ~G. K. Chesterton
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...
~John Milton, "Lycidas"
I'm so glad my window looks east into the sunrising.... It's so splendid to see the morning coming up over those long hills and glowing through those sharp fir tops. It's new every morning, and I feel as if I washed my very soul in that bath of earliest sunshine. ~L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables
The morning drips her dew for me,
Noon spreads an opal canopy.
Home-bound, the drifting cloud-crafts rest
Where sunset ambers all the west...
~Robert Loveman (1864–1923)
The Dusk is dark and glorious
A star upon her brow;
With sunset blushes in her cheeks,
She beckons now.
~Robert Loveman, c. 1901
The evening came at last. The sun stretched out its arms over the whole world, and, folding us in a sheen of gold, it bade us good-night with a benediction. It is done, said the wind, as it whistled off over the valley, and our heads nodded assent as the father said a short evening prayer. ~Edward Payson Powell (1833–1915), "An Old-Time Thanksgiving," 1904
The sea gulls float, so gracefully,
As they fly—now low, now high—
And rich colors of the sunsets
Brighten all the western sky.
~Gertrude Tooley Buckingham, "The Picture I See from my Window" (1940s)
Dawn spreads her wispy pink angel wings over the morning. ~Terri Guillemets
Suddenly the horizon seemed wrapped in a mass of pale pink clouds... a perfect rose without a break or rift. It was as if a pink aurora had flashed out low down in the sky, giving everything around a roseate tinge. ~Emily Read, "Hugh Granger's Wooings," 1874
...the orange morning light shimmering through... the sky becomes bluer, and is suffused with pink clouds with the golden rays of the early sun shooting through them... ~Horatio F. Stoll, "San Francisco's Theatrical Rehabilitation," in The Theatre, 1912
Another morning early we decided to go out and see the sun rise, like Thoreau. ~Kate Trimble Sharber (b.1883), The Annals of Ann, 1910
It is quite a faery scene, surprising and wonderful, as if you walked amid those rosy and purple clouds that you see float in the evening sky. ~Henry David Thoreau, journal, 1860 February 12th
I caught a sigh from the golden west,
Where the royal Day was dying,
A crimson dart through the purple vest
Of clouds, on her great heart lying.
~Josephine Butterfield Walcott (1840–1906), "Beautiful Links," World of Song, 1878
The desert sunset clouds exhale pink puffs of dusky smoke. ~Terri Guillemets
Rose-tinted clouds are floating by
Against the deep and azure sky:
Pink, gray, and purest white,
Deepening into golden light...
Tell me, pink clouds, floating by
In the deep and dark-blue sky,
Tell me, may I by and by
Join my mother there on high?..
~Fannie L. Michener, "Clouds," 1881
Giant shafts of trees, such shafts as one sees only in the stupendous forest of the far West, shot straight into the sky. We were up before the dawn. So titanic was the forest. The trails led us up and up, under spruce boughs becoming fragrant, over needle-strewn floors still heavy with darkness, disclosing glimpses now and then of gray light showing eastward between the boles. Suddenly the forest stopped, and we found ourselves on the crest of a great ridge, floating on a sea of darkness. Scarcely had we spoken in the miles of our ascent, and now words would be sacrilege. The gray light grew into white. Wrinkles and features grew into the mountain. Gradually a ruddy light appeared in the east. Then a flash of red shot out of the horizon, struck on a point of the summit, and caught from crag to crag and snow to snow until the great mass was streaked and splashed with fire. Slowly the darkness settled away from its base; a tree emerged; a bird chirped; and the morning was born! Far hills rose first through rolling billows of mist. Then came wide forests of spruce. As the panorama rose, the mountain changed from red to gold. Then the forest rang with calls of birds and a hundred joyous noises, and the creation was complete! ~Liberty Hyde Bailey, "The Realm of the Commonplace," The Outlook to Nature, 1905 [Sunrise on Mt. Shasta. A little altered. —tεᖇᖇ¡·g]
In the eastern corner of the world, rumours of the coming dawn were stirring; and here, like a glow-worm, caught and meshed in gossamer, a single star throbbed in a film of cloud, as if striving to break free. On the eastern hills, vague shadows, menacing as a concealed and crouching foe, dimly silhouetted themselves into the friendly form of trees... Then like a rocket which signals the coming of a relieving army, a slender shaft of light spired up from over the world's edge. ~Coulson Kernahan, "Jottings from a Nature-Lover's Note-Book: When Dawn Is Nigh," Begging the Moon's Pardon, 1930
Above the roofs of the city,
Above its toil and din,
The rose-red flame of sunset
To my chamber floweth in.
Below is the strife and tumult,
Below is the grief and sin;
Above, the glory of sunset
To my soul is flowing in.
~Mary Clemmer (1831–1884), "The Sunset"
The clouds danced an orange-pink waltz with the sunrise. ~Terri Guillemets, "Dawn-waltz," 2005
Venture out at dawn, when the world is bathed in golden-ruby light and is quiet and forgiving. ~Dr. SunWolf, 2014 May 4th tweet, professorsunwolf.com
Now a lustre glowing
In the silent west,
From the sun was flowing
As he turned to rest;
And the Cloud borne sunward
Ever nearer, nigher,
Ever floated onward
Toward the sunset-fire...
~"The Cloud," Excelsior: Helps to Progress in Religion, Science, and Literature, Vol. VI, edited by James Hamilton, 1856
Now sinks the cloudless sun in glory bright,
And lingering bids the darkening hills, Good Night!
~Henry Heavisides, "The Pleasures of Home," 1840
Morning, the bold young giant
Sticks you in his bent bow of shining blue
And shoots you toward the zenith...
~James Oppenheim, "Good-morning," War and Laughter, 1916
In the years in which I used often to be still awake at dawn, what an entrancing spectacle were the pink clouds in the eastern sky! ~Robert Lynd, "In Defence of Pink," 1937
The sunset put the sky afire
And made the ocean marvelous;
But fiercer was the fire in us,
The fire of our desire.
~John Robinson Jeffers, "Morgengabe"
[T]he sky was red and gold with sunset. The water was bright as the sky and the low green shore was all that kept one from going into the other. The gray moss hung down across the sunset with an airiness delicate as foam. The shadows of oak and cedar were lying down across the grass... They stretched themselves, settling for the night. ~Cid Ricketts Sumner, Tammy Out of Time, 1958 [Am I the only one who thinks of Bob Ross painting when I read this? —tg]
Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose
From out night's gray and cloudy sheath;
Softly and still it grows and grows,
Petal by petal, leaf by leaf...
~Susan Coolidge, "The Morning Comes Before The Sun"
Or those war-clouds that gather on the horizon, dragon-crested, tongued with fire;—how is their barbed strength bridled? what bits are these they are champing with their vaporous lips... ~John Ruskin, "The Cloud-Balancings"
Then rich cloud masses dyed the violet's hue,
With orange sunbeams dropping swiftly through.
~Jean Ingelow, "The Four Bridges," 1863
Softly drops the crimson sun:
Softly down from overhead,
Drop the bell-notes, one by one,
Melting in the melting red...
~Susan Coolidge, "Angelus"
Oh, sunset, is the rainbow your brother or your sister? ~Julia Cooley Altrocchi (1893–1972), "The Sunset," 1902, The Poems of a Child, Being Poems Written Between the Ages of Six and Ten, 1904
A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun,
A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow:
Long had I watched the glory moving on,
O'er the still radiance of the lake below:
Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow!
Even in its very motion there was rest;
While every breath of eve that chanced to blow,
Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west...
~John Wilson, "The Evening Cloud"
Golden-winged, the sun
With trailing clouds, sinks under…
The windy heavens run
As seeking western cover:
And in the garden wander
The loved one and the lover…
Darling, day is done:
Golden-winged, the sun
With trailing clouds, sinks under.
~James Oppenheim, "Sun-down," War and Laughter, 1916
Sweet May lies fresh before us,
To life the young flowers leap,
And through the Heaven's blue o'er us
The rosy cloudlets sweep.
~Heinrich Heine, "A New Spring," 1831, translated from German by Charles Godfrey Leland
The winds behind me in the thicket sigh,
The bees fly droning on laborious wing,
Pink cloudlets scarcely float across the sky,
September stillness broods over every thing...
Deep peace is in my soul... Let us live and love;
Suns rise and set, and fill the rolling year...
Hush! in the thicket still the breezes blow;
Pink cloudlets sail across the azure sky;
The bees warp lazily on laden wing;
Beauty and stillness brood o'er every thing.
~John Addington Symonds, "On the Hillside"
Bright sunset clouds, flushed with a crimson glow,
Linger about the calm departing day,
Like spirits round a good man's dying bed...
~John Askham, "September"
As the sun sinks, doubling his disc in the October smoke, the low, south wind creeps over the withered tree-tops, and drips the leaves upon the land. The windows that were wide open at noon, are closed; and a bright blaze — to drive off the Eastern dampness, that promises a storm, — flashes lightly, and kindly, over the book-shelves and busts, upon my wall. As the sun sinks lower, and lower, his red beams die in a sea of great, gray clouds. Slowly, and quietly, they creep up over the night-sky. ~Ik Marvel (Donald Grant Mitchell, 1822–1908), Dream Life: A Fable of the Seasons
Darkness turned on her pillow white;
A star serenely shone;
Deeply, deeply into the night
Cut the sword of dawn.
Over the snow the pale east threw
Abroach where daylight broke,
Crimson stains on the abbey panes
Above the hamlet smoke...
~John Davidson, "Winter"
The girls wandered down a long pineland aisle that seemed to lead right out into the heart of a deep-red, overflowing winter sunset. "I'd go home and write a poem this blessed minute if I only knew how," declared Phil, pausing in an open space where a rosy light was staining the green tips of the pines. ~L. M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island, 1915
...the perfect half hour that follows the rose and saffron of a winter sunset. ~L. M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island, 1915
Now ruddy Morn purpled the glowing East... ~Samuel Wesley
When through the eastern gates of heaven
The sun's first glories shine;
Or when his softest beams are given
To gild the day's decline;
All glorious as that orb appears,
His radiance still would lose
Each gentle charm, that most endears,
Without your soft'ning hues.
~Bernard Barton, "To the Clouds," Napoleon and Other Poems, 1822
[R]osy clouds were spread like flowers in the sun's pathway... the singing world of the air hung exulting in the hues of morning and the heavenly blue; sparks of clouds darted up from gold bars along the horizon; at last the flames of the sun streamed in over the earth. ~Jean Paul Friedrich Richter, Hesperus, or Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days: A Biography, translated from German by Charles T. Brooks, 1865
A crimson sunrise streaked with gold flares... ~Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire, 1968
Sunset fell... The red and golden rays of sunlight swept down over it, spreading light over the desert. ~Zane Grey, The Water Hole, 1927
When in the pansy-purpled stain
Of sunset one far star is seen,
Like some bright drop of rain...
~Madison J. Cawein (1865–1914), "The World of Faery"
The sky was stealing a pearly hue of dawn, shot with a tinge of rosy light, like the fire in the heart of an opal. "Look there!" he said. "If a fellow could see that without feeling some sensations go through him which he never felt before, he wouldn't be worth much!" ~Isabel Hornibrook, Camp and Trail: A Story of the Maine Woods, 1897
Morning breaks the mystery of night
with her delicately blazing pastel light.
An hour before sunrise — in creative meditation — can miraculously enrich the soul. A minute during a sunrise — in receptive silence — can gloriously inspire the heart. ~William Arthur Ward, For This One Hour, 1969
Gilbert and Anne... were sauntering through the shadows of the Haunted Wood. Beyond, the harvest hills were basking in an amber sunset radiance, under a pale, aerial sky of rose and blue. The distant spruce groves were burnished bronze, and their long shadows barred the upland meadows. ~L. M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island, 1915 [I just can't help but see a Bob Ross painting in these types of descriptions. —tg]
Now the drowsy sunshine
Slides far away
Into the happy morning
Of someone else's day.
~Harry Behn (1898–1973), "Evening," Windy Morning: Poems and Pictures, 1953
White snow and silver water, faint ghosts of ships and trees and spires through the mists, deeps of chrysoprase and shallows of amethyst, and beyond the snow a sunset fire like the dream in the heart of an opal. ~Elizabeth Godfrey (Jessie Bedford), The Winding Road, 1902
The twilight purples stain the leaning hills... ~Mary Clemmer (1831–1884), "Change"
It was very dark; but in the murky sky there were masses of cloud which shone with a lurid light, like monstrous heaps of copper that had been heated in a furnace, and were growing cold. ~Charles Dickens, The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit
At last the pink light of the sunrise began to show in the eastern sky... At a word from Orion all the starry guests disappeared... ~Etta Merrick Graves, The Castle Builder, 1916
Day holds the sky with big blue arms
Until the sun sends her off into evening
With a grateful blaze of vibrant colors
Night embraces the quiet dark sky
Until it sparks alive with morning light
Clouds are among the most striking appearances in the natural world. Whether heralding the dawn with beacons of flame and banners of gold, or escorting the sun's descending car with armies of light and sapphire thrones... [G]lorious in the morning... prophetic of the dawn at evening, clouds lend a charm to every landscape... ~Daniel March, "The Balancings of the Clouds," Our Father's House, or the Unwritten Word, 1869
The storm raged all night, but when the dawn came it was spent. Anne saw a fairy fringe of light on the skirts of darkness. Soon the eastern hill-tops had a fire-shot ruby rim. ~L. M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island, 1915
The Sun is Low, to Say the Least,
Although it is Well-Red;
Yet, Since it Rises in the Yeast,
It Should be Better Bred!
A few amber clouds floated in the sky without a breath of air to move them. The horizon was of a fine golden tint, changing gradually into a pure apple-green, and from that into the deep blue of the mid-heaven. ~Washington Irving, "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow"
[W]hen the weather is steady and fair, we see in a far higher region the lovely cirrus cloud; light and waving as locks of hair, or tiny feathers of exquisite hue, the first to catch the splendour of the coming sun, the last to lose the glories of his light... ~Alfred Rowland, "The Clouds: God's Angels of the Sea," in The Sunday Magazine (London), 1884
the seam between desert and night
glows pastel to neon to clear blue light
~Terri Guillemets, "Phoenix sunrise," 1996
Along the western sky the glow becomes richer and deeper as the sun goes down to his rest. White fleecy clouds, tipped with a golden carmine, hover o'er him, crowding around to catch his gaze as he sinks. The hills assume a deep violet hue, and the distant peaks are tipt with gold. The fleecy clouds have now stretched out into bars of rosy red, through which the descending sun's edge peeps with mellowed light, sending its streamers still up into the sky. Rich streams of gold play upon the waters, becoming fainter and fainter. He has now dipt under the edge of the earth, and still the warm clouds linger about his setting. The blackbird makes his farewell song; the distant mountain peaks disappear; twilight steals over the flowers; and the great, old stars come out, and shine silently into the sea. ~Eliza Cook's Journal, 1850
I saw two clouds at morning,
Ting'd with the rising sun;
And in the dawn they floated on,
And mingled into one...
~John G. C. Brainard, "Epithalamium," Occasional Pieces of Poetry, 1825
...the evening sky's pinklit hue... ~Terri Guillemets, "May-love sunset," 2008
I get so excited over sunsets and rainbows etc, when you see them it's like you can shut out the real world and envelop yourself in a beauty that almost makes it feel like fantasy. ~Mrs. Ron Harris
Or when the night is darkest,
The morn begins to break,
And cometh forth all smiling
With many a crimson streak...
~John Stanley Tute, Holy Times and Scenes, 1846
After God perfected the sunrise, he created photographers, artists, and poets to ensure his feat remained immortal. ~Terri Guillemets
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
Is lovely yet;
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality...
My thoughts have borne me far away
To Beauties of an older day,
Where, crowned with roses, stands the DAWN,
Striking her seven-stringed barbiton
Of flame, whose chords give being to
The seven colours, hue for hue;
The music of the colour-dream
She builds the day from, beam by beam.
~Madison Cawein (1865–1914), "Dreams"
The sunset is the veil of dreams. ~Julia Cooley Altrocchi (1893–1972), "Sentences That I Make Up," The Poems of a Child, Being Poems Written Between the Ages of Six and Ten, 1904
The sun sneaks down behind the hill
When ends another day.
It fills its pockets full of gold
And slowly steals away.
~Thelma Ireland, "Culprit," in Arizona Highways, March 1951
Anne was sitting on the big gray boulder in the orchard looking at the poem of a bare, birchen bough hanging against the pale red sunset with the very perfection of grace. ~L. M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island, 1915
The Dawn is a wild, fair woman,
With sunrise in her hair;
Look where she stands, with pleading hands,
To lure me there.
~Robert Loveman, c.1901
from the east and the last dust of the day glows and settles...
colors fade to greys or take on new tints: muted colors
lit from an orange moon.
i know the joy of watching the day end; seeing in the
fading afterglow of sunset
a promise of a warming glow on the other horizon.
and in the cooling lack of sun
i find new life, new energy to dance...
~Ken Sekaquaptewa and Candy St. Jacques, Sahuaro, 1970, yearbook of the Associated Students of Arizona State University
God is now serving scoops of orange and raspberry sherbet on the horizon. What a beautiful sunrise! ~Terri Guillemets, "Sweet dawn," 2010 [Okay, so maybe it was more like grapefruit-colored than raspberry, but that's not really as poetic or as tasty, now is it? —tg]
Sick of myself and all that keeps the light
Of heaven away from me, I love to seek
This breezy hill, and on its highest peak
Sit down and watch the coming of the night.
'Tis ever a new miracle to me.
Men look to God for some mysterious sign,
For marriage feasts with water turned to wine,
For Christ to walk upon the troubled sea;
As if He did not to our sense unfold
Meanings as miraculous as of old!
Come watch with me the shaft of fire that glows
In yonder heaven: the fair, frail places,
The blue and crimson archipelagoes,
And great cloud-continents of sunset-seas.
~Thomas Bailey Aldrich
What a beautiful sunset... it's just like a land in itself, isn't it? That long, low bank of purple cloud is the shore, and the clear sky further on it is like a golden sea. ~L. M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island, 1915
Would dip his pen
Into the chalice of
The melting western sky and make
Before the glow…
The spreading red and gold
Of days slow merging into night…
~Gertrude M. Olson, "Sunset," in Arizona Highways, March 1954
Clouds blaze brilliant colors in a sky on fire. ~Terri Guillemets
And but for fear it is not so,
The wild unrest that lives in woe
Would dote and pore on yonder cloud
That rises upward always higher,
And onward drags a labouring breast,
And topples round the dreary west,
A looming bastion fringed with fire.
~Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "In Memoriam A. H. H, OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII," 1851
sunset ablaze in carpe-diem pink
fleeting moments of glowing gold
feathered in hourglass-sands gray
with the lucent glimmer of infinity—
and thus the blissful evening sky
exhales gently the passing day
and lights up in its elation that
the world has made it through
to relive night's starry bouquet
So it is and so may it ever be; that the past shall always be like a golden sunset, and the future like a crimson dawn. ~Edward Payson Powell (1833–1915), "An Old-Time Thanksgiving," 1904
The setting sun beams, radiant,
Then slowly fades away,
Just like a ruby tail light
Of each departing day.
~Thelma Ireland, "The Setting Sun," in Arizona Highways, March 1954
I waltzed with the dawn,
she waltzed with me—
a pinkish-orange o’er
the clouds draped we.
~Terri Guillemets, "Dancing with Dawn," 2005
After 5000 years of recorded human history, you wonder, What part of 2,000,000 sunrises doesn't a pessimist understand? ~Robert Brault, rbrault.blogspot.com
A scarlet-tangerine sunset slowly melts into the horizon.
Even the sun knows when to quit.
~Dr. SunWolf, @WordWhispers tweet, professorsunwolf.com
Sunset: then night opening to the Earth-gazer the gates of star-strewed eternity. ~James Oppenheim, The Beloved, 1915
Last saved 2023 Mar 06 Mon 20:22 PST