Bryan Procter
Bryan Procter
Bryan Waller Procterwas an English poet...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth21 November 1787
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!
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.
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.
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!
pain pride giving
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.
waiting literature rooms
All round the room my silent servants wait, My friends in every season, bright and dim.
dream winning ems
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.
beneath fragrance grows tale tells thy whispers
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.
beach ocean marine
The sea! The sea! The open sea!, The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
mother wall wine
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.
sea blue silence
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.