She still stood at her post, her flushed and perspiring face coated with the corndust, and her white bonnet embrowned by it.
"Tess of the d'Urbervilles" by Thomas Hardy
The shadowy black figures of pedestrians moved up, down, and across the embrowned roadway.
"The Well-Beloved" by Thomas Hardy
He was looking quite a different man to what I had left him; embrowned, sparkles in his eyes, so languid before.
"Cousin Phillis" by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
They noticed one another's embrowned complexions, but embraced silently.
"Vittoria, Complete" by George Meredith
Her arms were embrowned by exposure, but her forehead was not brown.
"A Terrible Temptation" by Charles Reade
The ears were embrowned with the continual beams of the sun, and, oppressed with the weight of their grain, bended from the stalk.
"Imogen" by William Godwin
That hut, whose rough and smoke-embrowned spars Dip to the cold clay floor on either side!
"The Saint's Tragedy" by Charles Kingsley
He was a man somewhat past forty, embrowned by distant travel, and, his years considered, wonderfully good-looking.
"J. S. Le Fanu's Ghostly Tales, Volume 3" by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
As he looked, he fancied that he could detect objects moving above the tall grass, embrowned with the tints of autumn.
"The Frontier Fort" by W. H. G. Kingston
Tasso took his hat off, and stood in the door-way an embrowned, healthy, not ungraceful figure, in his working-clothes of rough blue stuff.
"Children's Literature" by Charles Madison Curry
If the tenement selected for this honour could not be ancient and embrowned, it should at least have been detached.
"A Little Tour in France" by Henry James
He was withal not merely a falcon of the steppes, but a handsome fellow, dark, embrowned by the winds.
"Pan Michael" by Henryk Sienkiewicz
And as that month of winter
And the evening of the date-day
I am conscious of those presences, and sit spellbound.
"The Re-Enactment" by Thomas Hardy
In bed I muse on Tenier's boors,
Embrowned and beery losels all;
A wakeful brain
Within low doors the slugs of boors
Laze and yawn and doze again.
"The Bench Of Boors" by Herman Melville
Another age shall see the golden ear
Embrown the slope, and nod on the parterre,
Deep harvests bury all his pride has plann'd,
And laughing Ceres reassume the land.
"Epistles to Several Persons: Epistle IV, To Richard Boyle," by Alexander Pope