C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.

Thunder

Are there no stones in heaven
But what serve for the thunder?

Shakespeare.

Thy thunder, conscious of the new command,
Rumbles reluctant o’er our fallen house.

Keats.

Far along,
From peak to peak the rattling crags among,
Leaps the live thunder.

Byron.

The herald, earth-accredited, of heaven,—which when men hear, they think upon heaven’s king, and run the items over of the account to which he is sure to call them.

Sheridan Knowles.

The thunder,
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc’d
The name of Prosper; it did bass my trespass.

Shakespeare.

To stand against the deep, dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke
Of quick, cross lightning?

Shakespeare.

The thunder,
Wing’d with red lightning and impetuous rage,
Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now
To bellow through the vast and boundless deep.

Milton.

A storm-cloud lurid with lightning,
And a cry of lamentation,
Repeated and again repeated,
Deep and loud
As the reverberation
Of cloud answering unto cloud,
Swells and rolls away in the distance,
As if the sheeted
Lightning retreated,
Baffled and thwarted by the wind’s resistance.

Longfellow.

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