Riddles (Page 13)

I have no beginning, I do not end;
I can be warm, I am cold;
I imprison, I surround.
Heavy I am, but light as well.
A fist may not find use for me,
I am male, I am female,
I encircle, I bind.
I have no ending, I do not begin.

I sit on the ground
Finger up-raised to heaven.
I speak with clear tones
And aim for others
To go where I point.

There is a bush fit for the nonce
That beareth pricks and precious stones
The fruit in fear some ladies pull.
Tis smooth and round and plump and full...
They put it in, and then they move it,
Which makes it melt, and then they love it.
So what was round, plump, full and hard
Grows lank and thin and dull and marred...

Look into my face and I'm everybody;
Scratch my back and I'm nobody.

A man rode to town on Friday.
He stayed there all night,
and came back on the same Friday.
How can this be?

I have legs but walk not
A strong back but work not
Two good arms but reach not
A seat but sit and tarry not.

In marble halls as white as milk,
LIned with a skin as soft as silk,
Within a fountain crystal-clear,
A golden apple doth appear.
No doors there are to this stronghold,
Yet thieves break in and steal the gold.

I am so simple,
That I can only point
Yet I guide men
All over the world.

A house of wood in a hidden place
Built without nails or glue
High above the earthen ground
It holds pale gems of blue.

Inside a great blue castle
Lives a shy young maid
She blushes in the morning
And comes not out at night.

I can be touched
But I hurt those who touch me
I move swiftly through a dry forest
But die in a mountain stream
Where I pass I leave a black shroud.

Though I dance at a ball, I am nothing at all.

Goes over all the hills and hollows,
Bites hard, but never swallows.

I walked and walked and at last I got it;
I didn't want it, so I stopped and looked for it;
When I found it, I threw it away.

Lives in winter, dies in summer,
Grows with its root upwards.

Fatherless and Motherless, born without sin
Roared when it came into the world,
And never spoke again.

When you look into my face,
I shall never lie;
Instead be but a window into your soul,
whether there light or shadows hide;
As in me many see their deaths
where others see their lives;
In this deny me many try,
but they simply twist their knives;
For though prejudiced to some I may seem,
The lie is their own lives.

I am the part of the bird
that is not in the sky,
Who can drown in the ocean
and yet remain dry.
A last vestige of man
that refuses to die.
In mourning I am tossed
at your feet to lie;
I begin my job early,
devouring your ankles and thighs.
I work my way up,
eating your legs to your waist.
And though around midday away I am chased,
I return quickly,
To savor the arm of my taste.
As evening falls I enter your lungs,
Spiraling down
past your mouth and your tongue.
I feast on your body, your soul, and your mind,
but as darkness falls you shall find
That away I will go, a relief for some;
At least until tomorrow morning comes.

As destructive as life,
As healing as death;
An institutioner of strife,
Just as prone to bless.
It is all that is good,
Yet with an evil trend;
As it was the beginning of things,
It can also be the end.

As beautiful as the setting sun,
As delicate as the morning dew;
An angel's dusting from the stars
that can turn the Earth into
A frosted moon.