50 Metaphors for grass

Sure, the grass I have is no good, but seven times worse than the road.

The grass is so wetso wetas we swish through it, every blade a separate green sparkle.

So far so good, but the grass that bordered the path was not the sweet green turf of an English lawn, and the way was edged by big earthen pots, into which were hastily stuck wisps of iris blooms and Persian lilac.

The character of the country is inferior, as the grass which covers the plains is principally aristidia and andropogon; anthisteria or kangaroo grass only in small patches.

a Bernardin di Fosco finds his dog-grass become a tree in Faenza!

The grasses they fed upon were mixtures of cocks-foot, timothy, rye-grass, and white clover.

The beautiful grass from which the latter is obtained is a pretty ornament for the garden; it now grows very abundantly in Kent.

To the north of our position the country rose into a succession of stony ridges thinly grassed and nearly destitute of trees; in the valleys the kangaroo grass was tolerably plentiful and quite greena sufficient evidence that we had now arrived within the influence of the rains that had produced the recent inundation, which gave us every hope of being able to push across the country intervening between this and the Gascoyne.

It is brown and bare; for, except during a few short weeks in spring, the sparse bunch-grass is sear and yellow, and the silver gray of the wormwood lends an added dreariness to the landscape.

The grass was young velvet.

The grass, all along the fields, was white, prostrate; swept fiercely one way; every blade stretched out helpless upon its green face.

"In botany, grasses, the most useful but the least ornamental, were his favorites."

Sweet short clover flowers stood but a little way back; still nearer the hedges the grass was coarser, long, and wire-like.

That the trees are high and the grasses short is a mere accident of our own foot-rules and our own stature.

Which of us does not know that land, unmapped, unnamed, a land whose sun is brighter, whose grass is greener, whose sky is bluer, and whose every road runs into a golden mist?

But to the spirit which has stripped off for a moment its own idle temporal standards the grass is an everlasting forest, with dragons for denizens; the stones of the road are as incredible mountains piled one upon the other; the dandelions are like gigantic bonfires illuminating the lands around; and the heath-bells on their stalks are like planets hung in heaven each higher than the other.

The Striped or Ribbon Grass of the flower garden is only a variety of this.

How sad the grand old castle looks! O'erhead, the unmolested rooks Upon the turret's windy top Sit, talking of the farmer's crop; Here in the court-yard springs the grass, So few are now the feet that pass; The stately peacocks, bolder grown, Come hopping down the steps of stone, As if the castle were their own; And I, the poor old seneschal, Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall.

the crows through the blueness wing); Yet these were late as bold, as gay; But Mosbya clip, and grass is hay.

But the grass was an improvement.

Then there are wide lawns, where the grass in spring is a perfect rainbow of anemones, white, rose, crimson, purple, mottled, streaked, and dappled with ever varying shade of sunset clouds.

The grass that is set, like a green jewel, in the arabesques of the cloister, is a bit of greensward the feet press with a different tread to that which skips lightly over other strips of turf.

The flowers and I were friends again, the grass was my brother, and the shy nymph-like stream, dropping silver vowels into the silence, was my sweetheart.

The grass of the foothills was a faint green mist about their feet, cloaks of exquisite blue hung around the upper masses, but their heads were naked to the pale skies.

I Can draw warmth from the cheek of my Love; As blest and as glad, in this desolate gloom, As if green summer grass were the floor of my room, And woodbines were hanging above.

50 Metaphors for  grass