Quotes by Bryan Procter - Page 1

How silent are the winds!
Bryan Procter / Poet
Silent
Wind
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Death is the tyrant of the imagination.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Death
Imagination
Cornwall
Tyrants
Tyrant
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Shadows fall on even the brightest hours.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Fall
Night
Shadow
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Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Radiant
Echo
Speaks
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Pity speaks to grief more sweetly than a band of instruments.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Band
Grief
Instruments
Literature
Pity
Speaks
Sweetly
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The sea! The sea! The open sea!, The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Bryan Procter / Poet
Ocean
Beach
Blue
Marine
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Half the ills we heard within our hearts are ills because we hoard them.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Half
Heard
Hearts
Hoard
Ills
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Despair doth strike as deep a furrow in the brain as mischief or remorse.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Brain
Despair
Strikes
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Half of the ills we hoard within our hearts Are ills because we hoard them.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Half
Heart
Literature
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I never was on the dull, tame shore, But I loved the great sea more and more.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Love
Literature
Sea
Shore
More And More
Tame
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The sweetest noise on earth, a woman's tongue; A string which hath no discord.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Discord
Earth
Literature
Noise
Sweetest
Tongue
Woman
Hath
String
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Oh, the summer night, Has a smile of light, And she sits on a sapphire throne.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Nature
Smile
Light
Night
Summer
Oh
She
Throne
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All round the room my silent servants wait, My friends in every season, bright and dim.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Literature
Rooms
Silent
Waiting
Bright
Dim
Round
Wait
Room
Season
Servants
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O human beauty, what a dream art thou, that we should cast our life and hopes away on thee!
Bryan Procter / Poet
Art
Beauty
Dream
Should
Thee
Beauty Life Art
Cast
Hopes
Thou
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So mightiest powers buy deepest calms are fed, And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be!
Bryan Procter / Poet
Calm
Literature
Sleep
Calms
Fed
Mightiest
Oft
Powers
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Touch us gently, Time! Let us glide adown thy stream Gently,-as we sometimes glide Through a quiet dream!
Bryan Procter / Poet
Dream
Time
Literature
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Touch us gently, Time! Let us glide adown thy stream, Gently, - as we sometimes glide Through a quiet dream!
Bryan Procter / Poet
Quiet
Touch
Gently
Glide
Let Us
Stream
Thy
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I said that I loved the wise proverb, Brief, simple and deep; For it I'd exchange the great poem That sends us to sleep.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Wise
Simple
Sleep
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Not the rich viol, trump, cymbal, nor horn, Guitar, nor cittern, nor the pining flute, Are half so sweet as tender human words.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Music
Guitar
Sweet
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I 'm on the sea! I 'm on the sea! I am where I would ever be, With the blue above and the blue below, And silence wheresoever I go.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Blue
Sea
Silence
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A single star is rising in the east, and from afar sheds a most tremulous lustre; silent Night doth wear it like a jewel on her brow.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Jewels
Night
Stars
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There's not a wind but whispers of thy name; And not a flow'r that grows beneath the moon, But in its hues and fragrance tells a tale Of thee, my love.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Fragrance
Grows
Moon
Thee
Wind
Beneath
Hues
Tale
Thy
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Women are so gentle, so affectionate, so true in sorrow, so untired and untiring! but the leaf withers not sooner, and tropic light fades not more abruptly.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Endurance
Light
Sorrow
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Most writers steal a good thing when they can, and when 'Tis safely got 'Tis worth the winning. The worst of 't is we now and then detect em, they ever dream that we suspect em.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Dream
Ems
Winning
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Sing! Who sings To her who weareth a hundred rings? Ah, who is this lady fine? The Vine, boys, the Vine! The mother of the mighty Wine, A roamer is she O'er wall and tree And sometimes very good company.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Mother
Wall
Wine
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The sea! the sea! the open sea! The blue, the fresh, the ever free! Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth's wide regions round; It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; Or like a cradled creature lies.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Ocean
Lying
Sea
Sky
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Love can take what shape he pleases; and when once begun his fiery inroad in the soul, how vain the after knowledge which his presence gives! We weep or rave; but still he lives, and lives master and lord, amidst pride and tears and pain.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Giving
Pain
Pride
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Enter upon thy paths, O year! Thy paths, which all who breathe must tread, Which lead the Living to the Dead, I enter; for it is my doom To tread thy labyrinthine gloom; To note who round me watch and wait; To love a few; perhaps to hate; And do all duties of my fate.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Fate
Hate
Years
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The progress from infancy to boyhood is imperceptible. In that long dawn of the mind we take but little heed. The years pass by us, one by one, little distinguishable from each other. But when the intellectual sun of our life is risen, we take due note of joy and sorrow.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Joy
Long
Years
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Gamaun is a dainty steed, Strong, black, and of a noble breed, Full of fire, and full of bone, With all his line of fathers known; Fine his nose, his nostrils thin, But blown abroad by the pride within; His mane is like a river flowing, And his eyes like embers glowing In the darkness of the night, And his pace as swift as light.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Father
Horse
Strong
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Up and down! Up and down! From the base of the wave to the billow's crown; And amidst the flashing and feathery foam The Stormy Petrel finds a home,-- A home, if such a place may be, For her who lives on the wide, wide sea, On the craggy ice, in the frozen air, And only seeketh her rocky lair To warm her young and to teach them spring At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing!
Bryan Procter / Poet
Home
Air
Spring
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Where are Shakespeare's imagination, Bacon's learning, Galileo's dream? Where is the sweet fancy of Sidney, the airy spirit of Fletcher, and Milton's thought severe? Methinks such things should not die and dissipate, when a hair can live for centuries, and a brick of Egypt will last three thousand years. I am content to believe that the mind of man survives, somehow or other, his clay.
Bryan Procter / Poet
Dream
Believe
Sweet
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In the hollow tree, in the old gray tower, The spectral Owl doth dwell; Dull, hated, despised, in the sunshine hour, But at the dusk--he's abroad and well! Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with him-- All mock him outright, by day: But at night, when the woods grow still and dim, The boldest will shrink away! O, when the night falls, and roosts the fowl, Then, then, is the reign of the Horned Owl!
Bryan Procter / Poet
Fall
Night
Sunshine
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Bryan Procter Quotes - Page 1

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