Bryan Procter
Bryan Procter
Bryan Waller Procterwas an English poet...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth21 November 1787
hate fate years
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.
fall sunshine night
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!
summer night light
Oh, the summer night, Has a smile of light, And she sits on a sapphire throne.
brain despair strikes
Despair doth strike as deep a furrow in the brain as mischief or remorse.
light sorrow endurance
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.
years long joy
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.
strong horse father
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.
music sweet guitar
Not the rich viol, trump, cymbal, nor horn, Guitar, nor cittern, nor the pining flute, Are half so sweet as tender human words.
grief band speak
Pity speaks to grief more sweetly than a band of instruments.
earth noise tongue
The sweetest noise on earth, a woman's tongue; A string which hath no discord.
death tyrants imagination
Death is the tyrant of the imagination.
sea dull environment
I never was on the dull, tame shore, But I loved the great sea more and more.
beauty dream art
O human beauty, what a dream art thou, that we should cast our life and hopes away on thee!
wind silent
How silent are the winds!