Frank J. Wilstach, comp. A Dictionary of Similes. 1916.

Eliza Cook

Bounds like deer from the hounds.

The young lips breathe like a dewy rose
Fanned by the fire-fly’s wing.

Brows like cloudless day.

Buoyant as light.

Burst, like a morn lighted bubble of dew.

There’s a mantling flush that dwells in his cheeks,
Like a roseleaf thrown on the snow.

Cheerless as the grave.

Dark as a murderer’s mask of crape.

Dash along, like molten diamonds glancing.

Dreary, dull, and sad as Death.

An eye like the polar star.

Fade like morning’s blush.

Fades like the rainbow’s brilliant arch.

Fervent as a saint.

Fickle and bright as a fairy throng.

Flew, as if he knew
A frenzied wretch was on his back.

Fresh as the foamy surf.

Gay as the dahlia’s bloom.

As glad as April skies.

My heart is like the fair sea-shell,
There’s music ever in it.

Keen as a poniard-thrust.

Pierce as the lightning flashes.

Plods on like a steed in a mill.

Met the gale as readily as the butterflies meet the sun.

Sacred as churchyard turf.

Saucy as the wave.

Sharp as the gore-soaked lashes
Of men’s whips.

Shining out like the gold that ’d been purged of its dross.

A shivering thing;
Like a young bird missing its mother’s wing.

Shrink,
As from a precipice’s brink.

Sinks like a lily from the storm.

A skin as sleek as a maiden’s cheek.

Swift as a sun ray.

Tempting as any fresh cowslip of spring.

Tremble like a fragile reed.

Tremble like dew on violet’s leaves.

Twineth, like a lover’s arm,
With sweet devotion.

Warm as the spark Prometheus stole.

Wild as a maniac’s mirth.