There be three Herrings loitering around, Longing to share that mossy
seat: Each Herring tries to sing what she has found That makes Life seem so sweet.
The dull brick walls, which here and there made a grand, straight sweep; the ugly little cupolas of the wings, the deep-set windows, the long, steep pinnacles of mossy
slate, all mirrored themselves in the tranquil river.
On a mossy
bank, between two trees, lies a beautiful girl asleep.
We skirted around two-thirds of the island, four miles from shore, and all the opera glasses in the ship were called into requisition to settle disputes as to whether mossy
spots on the uplands were groves of trees or groves of weeds, or whether the white villages down by the sea were really villages or only the clustering tombstones of cemeteries.
The comte walked feebly as far as the middle trees, seated himself upon a mossy
bank that sloped towards a sidewalk, and there waited the return of his strength, or rather the return of night.
When I had reached these, and walked over the moist, slippery sea-weed (at the risk of floundering into one of the numerous pools of clear, salt water that lay between them), to a little mossy
promontory with the sea splashing round it, I looked back again to see who next was stirring.
She always went by way of the swamp; it was a lovely place -- a boggy soil, green with the greenest of mossy
hillocks; a silvery brook meandered through it and spruces stood erectly, their boughs a-trail with gray-green mosses, their roots overgrown with all sorts of woodland lovelinesses.
And, for Jerry, most delightful of all, there was the gurgle and plash of a brooklet that pursued its invisible way over mossy
stones under a garmenture of tender and delicate ferns.
I sing a song, and thanks to the magazine editors I transmute my song into a waft of the west wind sighing through our redwoods, into a murmur of waters over mossy
stones that sings back to me another song than the one I sang and yet the same song wonderfully - er - transmuted.
We had our lunch down in a big mossy
hollow by an old well--such a ROMANTIC spot.
Felicity, and Cecily, Dan, Felix, Sara Ray and I were sitting one evening on the mossy
stones in Uncle Roger's hill pasture, where we had sat the morning the Story Girl told us the tale of the Wedding Veil of the Proud Princess.
In the midst of the grove was a fine lawn, sloping down towards the house, near the summit of which rose a plentiful spring, gushing out of a rock covered with firs, and forming a constant cascade of about thirty feet, not carried down a regular flight of steps, but tumbling in a natural fall over the broken and mossy
stones till it came to the bottom of the rock, then running off in a pebly channel, that with many lesser falls winded along, till it fell into a lake at the foot of the hill, about a quarter of a mile below the house on the south side, and which was seen from every room in the front.