O'er Karl the flood of sorrow swept; He tore his beard and loud he wept.
Karl the old, with his beard so white, Shall have pain and sorrow both day and night; France shall be ours ere a year go by; At Saint Denys' bourg shall our leaguer lie.
Nay--my sagest of men art thou: By my beard upon lip and chin I vow Thou shalt never depart so far from me: Sit thee down till I summon thee.
Neither shall be on this errand bound, Nor one of the twelve--my peers around; So by my blanching beard I swear.
For very wrath his beard he tore, His knights and barons weeping sore; Aswoon full fifty thousand fall: Duke Naimes hath pity and dole for all.
Once more hisbeard and hoary hair Began he with his hands to tear; A hundred thousand fainted there.
By my beard I swear, so white to see, If one escape, thou shalt surely die.
CLIX Onward King Karl in his anger goes; Down on his harness his white beard flows.
Sadly the Emperor bowed his head, With working finger his beard he spread, Tears in his own despite he shed.
He lay still on his back, swathed like a mummy, his thin peasant-face all wrinkled and brown, with the big nose and grey beard emerging from the white bandages.
He wore a little pointed beard that could only be considered an affectation; in one word, if you imagine a ridiculously small sheep-dog with no legs, a French beard and a stump of a tail, you have him.
Then Jeremy tumbled into the stern gaze of Mr. Le Page who, arrayed as he was in a very smart suit of the whitest flannels, looked with his black beard and fierce black eyebrows like a pirate king disguised.
Now the very sight of Mr. Le Page's blackbeard was enough.
That image of Someone of a vast size sitting in the red-hot sky, his white beard flowing, his eyes frowning, grew ever more and more awful.
No, he sat and looked at her through his hair, his fiery eye glinting, his peaked beard ironically humorous, his leg stuck out from his body, a pointing signal of derision.
The perfect crease of his white trousers vanished, his collar was no longer spotless, little beads of perspiration appeared almost at once on his forehead, and his black beard dripped moisture.
In the cart sat a thick-set peasant, in a new greatcoat, with a beardstreaked with grey.
Fash you your beardnae farther about the matter, Sir Bingo.
He had a long white beardlike the farmer at Kaase Farm; but who kept house for Him now He was old?
In the stern of the boat sat an elderly, weather-beaten man with a fringe of beard round his face; he was dressed in blue, and in front of him stood a sea-chest.
But it was a strange man with a beard who stood over him, looking at him with serious eyes.
At last I resolved to do it as well as I was able, and to spend the requisite time upon it; but since he wore his beard short after the Venetian fashion, I had great trouble in modelling a head to my own satisfaction.
But the two days’ stubble upon my lip and chin was very thick for the beard of an Oriental, and my forehead much too white, while yet far more my round blue eyes spoke of a terrifying world all unknown to this gentle girl.
He wore a small beard and mustache whose snowy whiteness contrasted with his tall black bag-like cap of cobwebby tissue.
But perhaps I shall when this beard is removed and I get some decent clothes.
For an instant only did the old man look at the girl, then with a swift, deft movement he swept the long beard from his face, and the white hair from his head.
He was standing watching an old man with a long gray beard and wavy hair falling below a broad-brimmed slouch hat.
Reynolds turned sharply at these words, and saw the old man with the long beard and flowing hair standing at his left.
The new comer was a very aged man, with stooped shoulders, a long white beard that reached to his waist and a profusion of snowy hair that escaped from beneath a cap of purple velvet at the side of which hung a bright crimson tassel.
He has a handsome face, glittering black eyes, an aquiline nose that commands respect, and a black beard and moustache that covered a firm mouth and chin.
Some of the writers of that day declared that the sight of this beard would create more terror in any port of the American seaboard than would the sudden appearance of a fiery comet.
Balbi brought with him the crowbar and a pair of scissors with which Soradaci immediately trimmed the angel’s overgrown beard and next used his skill as a barber upon Casanova.
His port was that of a king, and his dignity was heightened by a snowy beard that fell to his waist.
He spent the rest of his days in a single room, chained to a staple in the floor, tramping around and around, muttering and gesturing, and sometimes startling the passer-by as he showed his white face and ragged beard at the window.
That night the leaves fell off, the twigs shrivelled, sap ceased to run, and moss began to beard its skeleton limbs.
His hair and beard were long and white, but his eye was dark and resolute, and his voice was strong.
The idlers jeered at his bent, lean form, his snarl of beardand hair, his disreputable dress, his look of grieved astonishment.
The veteran wagged his beard and his sweeping curly hair like an old lion shaking his mane.
He seemed a man of about middle age, though it was difficult to guess more than approximately, for the thick, peaked beard that hid both mouth and chin made him look older than he really was.
She had only a glimpse of dark, unruly hair and a close-cut beard as she shot past, unable to pull up The Dancer.
His beard had been his only drawback from Diana's point of view, for she judged men by their mouths.
The man fidgeted in his saddle, fingering his beard uneasily, his eyes wandering past Diana's and looking at the broken trees.
A robe of the native cloth was thrown over my shoulders, my hair and beard were uncut, and I betrayed other evidences of my recent adventure.
His hair and beard were unshorn, his face deadly pale and haggard, and one limb swelled with the Fa-Fa to an incredible bigness.
One day while thus busy singing at the task, she met a very old man, with a long white beard sweeping his breast, who said to her: "Do not fear me.
Though he will not let his beardgrow long, the slovenly old fellow never has it shaven when he ought to.
He wears a long grey bearddown to his girdle, and moustaches to his chin.
He had moustaches, and a longbeard fell over his breast like a foaming waterfall, as white as the snows on the branches of the pine trees of Ibuki mountain.
His eyebrows are cotton-white, and a long snowy beard falls down over his breast.
It was thick hair, black and straight, already longer than city fashions dictated, and a first stubble of black beard was hiding the lines of a chin perhaps a trifle too sensitive and pointed.
The skin there was untanned and lay like a white band above the darkness of his face, thin, edged with a fringe of red beard and with blue eyes set high above prominent cheek bones.
A grizzle of beard edged his chin, a poor and scanty growth that showed the withered skin through its sparseness.
Now he gazed after her swearing softly through his beard and holding his horse to its slowest step.
He looked bloodless and wan, the grizzled beard not able to hide the thinness of his face.
