Then a shaft of lantern light pierced the dark, striking aslant the river, and the men began poling hard for Fort Douglas wharf.
"Lords of the North" by A. C. Laut
Top-packs must not ride wobbly or aslant.
"Pluck on the Long Trail" by Edwin L. Sabin
Yet Morgan was drilled by the boring sun until his view upon life was aslant.
"Trail's End" by George W. Ogden
The pillars of the porch were aslant, and the rain-warped boards snapped beneath her feet.
"Free Air" by Sinclair Lewis
The Greenstream cemetery lay aslant on a rise above the village.
"Mountain Blood" by Joseph Hergesheimer
They eyed him aslant as they worked, for visitors were rare occurrences.
"Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker" by Marguerite Bryant
His wife looked at him aslant and felt fear rising within her, as at the approach of a great calamity.
"The Frontier" by Maurice LeBlanc
The rays of light fall aslant the meadow, upon the backs of Lauman's men, and into the faces of the Rebels.
"My Days and Nights on the Battle-Field" by Charles Carleton Coffin
His ample front was rumpled with sorrow and his tie disorderly aslant.
"Select Conversations with an Uncle" by H. G. Wells
The chinks were red with the outer glow, and a stream of mote-laden sunlight, aslant, came in at the companionway.
"The Cruise of the Shining Light" by Norman Duncan
The mellow light the lake aslant,
The pebbled margin's ripple-chant
Attempered and low-toned,
The tender mystery owned.
"The Maids Of Attitash" by John Greenleaf Whittier
Seckel, blackheart, palpitant
Rained their bleaching strays; and white
Snowed the damson, bent aslant;
Rambow-tree and romanite
Seemed beneath deep drifts to pant.
"The Old Farm" by Madison Julius Cawein
Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.
"Because You Asked about the Line between Prose and Poetry" by Howard Nemerov
Now cease the rains, the orient sunbeams glad,
Burst through the broad expanse of heaven's pall;
Through banks of rifted clouds aslant they fall,
On this revolving sphere with verdure clad.
"The Shower" by George Hannibal Temple
But in days when the rain drives aslant o'er the range,
And the far hills the storm king is hiding,
Then the old yaller slicker gleams ghostlike and strange
Where the tireless cowboy is riding.
"The Old Yaller Slicker" by Arthur Chapman
You'll follow widening Rhodanus till vine an olive lean
Aslant before the sunny breeze that sweeps Nemausus clean
To Arelate's triple gate; but let me linger on,
Here where our stiff-necked British oaks confront Euroclydon!
"The Roman Centurion's Song" by Rudyard Kipling