I sat three-quarters of an hour in the flower-garden, while Fanny cut the roses; and very pleasant it was, I assure you, but very hot.
"Mansfield Park" by Jane Austen
An hour later he rode to the crest of a long parklike slope, where new green grass was sprouting and flowers peeped everywhere.
"To the Last Man" by Zane Grey
Hardly an hour since she had seen the arena looking like a basket of fresh flowers, full of splendid, youthful men.
"A Thorny Path [Per Aspera], Complete" by Georg Ebers
Flower would recover, and harmony would be restored, and nobody would wink for a quarter of an hour.
"Young Lives" by Richard Le Gallienne
Only half an hour since the flowering of life!
"The Testing of Diana Mallory" by Mrs. Humphry Ward
The milk is coagulated by an extract of thistle or cardoon flowers in two to six hours.
"The Complete Book of Cheese" by Robert Carlton Brown
A storm blew the tree down in the midst of its flowering, and I chanced to see it an hour later.
"Lippincott's Magazine, August, 1885" by Various
They stopped an hour after daybreak and breakfasted by the side of the car in a high country of wild flowers.
"The Summons" by A.E.W. Mason
Barely half an hour had sufficed for the annihilation of nearly six hundred soldiers, the flower of the British Light Horse.
"The Thin Red Line; and Blue Blood" by Arthur Griffiths
Add one quarter of an ounce of camomile flowers, and boil for another half-hour.
"Papers on Health" by John Kirk
A song of a faded flower!
'Twas plucked in the tender bud,
And fair and fresh for an hour,
In a lady's hair it stood.
Now, ah, now,
Faded it lies in the dust and low.
"Moritura" by Ernest Christopher Dowson
And view the soft tints of each dew-sprinkled flower
That scents the light wings of the gale,
We mourn that their beauties can last but an hour,
Yet fail not their musk to inhale.
"Summer" by Laura Sophia Temple
When the recreation hour was done
Each went in to her task. Alone
In the library, with its great north light,
Clotilde wrought at an exquisite
Wreath of flowers
For her Book of Hours.
"The Book Of Hours Of Sister Clotilde" by Amy Lowell
Tis borne on the zephyr at eventide's hour;
It falls on the heart like the dew on the flower,--
An infinite essence from tropic to pole,
The promise, the home, and the heaven of Soul.
"Hope" by Mary Baker Eddy
We are not day and night, my Fair,
But one. It is an hour of hours.
And thoughts that are not otherwhere
Are thought here 'mid the blown sea-flowers,
This meeting and this dusk of ours.
"Song Of The Day To The Night" by Alice Meynell
I turn the key in this idle hour
Of an ivory box, and looking, lo--
See only dust--the dust of a flower;
The waters will ebb, the waters will flow,
And dreams will come, and dreams will go,
"Genieve To Her Lover" by Marietta Holley