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

Lewis Morris

Arched like the bow of Cupid.

Blind as he who closes
His eyes to the light and will not have it shine.

As changeful as the spring.

Changed like one who knows his time must be
But short and bitter.

Chaste as the virgin, and the cold pure saint.

Cling
Like flies to the sheer precipice.

Creamy as the opening rose.

Dead as wood.

Fades like a once-heard tale.

Your face is as fair and bright
As the foam on the wave in the morning light.

Far as human man is from the brute.

Fluttering like a prisoned bird.

More foolish than the prodigal who eats
The husks of sense.

Lifeless as the icy moon.

Lonely as the home of kings
When the slow hours on leaden wings
Oppress the friendless great.

Ah! love is like a tender flower
Hid in the opening leaves of life,
Which, when the springtide calls, has power,
To scorn the elemental strife.

Pale … as the icy moon.

All my days
Passed like an empty vision.

Pure as any maid.

Smile like sunlight in a rippling sea.

Sober as is the tender voice of home.

Soulless as is the brute.

He sped as speeds the wind.

Spread out, wide as the width of mind.

Still as the Spring-tide comes.

Strange as a dream.

A sudden flash, as from a sunlit jewel.

Red like lips disclosing
Twin rows of fairy pearl.

Throbbed
As with some spiritual ecstasy.

Tripp’d, like a lamb playful and void of fear, through daisied grass and young leaves.

Twist like fell ghosts that fear the light.

Whisper like the voice within the shell.