Bryan Waller Procter Quotes
Bryan Waller Procter was a British poet who wrote under the pen name Barry Cornwall. He was esteemed in his time for his simple, melodious lyrics. He is remembered today for his poignant, heartfelt poetry that continues to inspire readers all over the world. Here are some of the best quotes from Bryan Waller Procter to get inspired and see things in a different light.
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How silent are the winds!
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Despair doth strike as deep a furrow in the brain as mischief or remorse.
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O human beauty, what a dream art thou, that we should cast our life and hopes away on thee!
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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.
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Death is the tyrant of the imagination.
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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.
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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.
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The sea! The sea! The open sea!, The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Bryan Waller Procter
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Shadows fall on even the brightest hours.
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Oh, the summer night, Has a smile of light, And she sits on a sapphire throne.
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Half of the ills we hoard within our hearts. Are ills because we hoard them.
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I never was on the dull, tame shore, But I loved the great sea more and more.
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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.
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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.
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So mightiest powers buy deepest calms are fed, And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be!
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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 Waller Procter
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How silent are the winds!
Bryan Waller Procter -
Despair doth strike as deep a furrow in the brain as mischief or remorse.
Bryan Waller Procter -
O human beauty, what a dream art thou, that we should cast our life and hopes away on thee!
Bryan Waller Procter -
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.
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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.
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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.
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Pity speaks to grief more sweetly than a band of instruments.
Bryan Waller Procter
