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Mary E. Coleridge

  • Be still, my beating heart, be still!

    • Mary E. Coleridge,
    • "All One," Poems ()
  • Strange Power, I know not what thou art, / Murderer or mistress of my heart. / I know I'd rather meet the blow / Of my most unrelenting foe / Than live — as now I live — to be / Slain twenty times a day by thee.

    • Mary E. Coleridge,
    • "To Memory," Poems ()
  • The fruits of the tree of knowledge are various; he must be strong indeed who can digest all of them.

  • ... qualities absolutely necessary for a historian: (1) Imagination. (2) Prejudice. (3) The power of writing your own biography at the same time.

    • Mary E. Coleridge,
    • 1893, in Theresa Whistler, ed., The Collected Poems of Mary Coleridge ()
  • How often one talks not to hear what the other person has got to say, but to hear what one has got to say oneself!

    • Mary E. Coleridge,
    • 1891, in Theresa Whistler, ed., The Collected Poems of Mary Coleridge ()
  • Tired of the daily round, / And tired of all my being; / My ears are tired with sound, / And mine eyes with seeing.

    • Mary E. Coleridge,
    • untitled (1887), in Theresa Whistler, ed., The Collected Poems of Mary Coleridge ()
  • Grief, I have cursed thee often — now at last / To hate thy name I am no longer free; / Caught in thy bony arms and prisoned fast, / I love no love but thee.

    • Mary E. Coleridge,
    • "My True Love Hath My Heart and I Have His" (1887), in Theresa Whistler, ed., The Collected Poems of Mary Coleridge ()
  • The brain's asleep before its time. / I would that thou hadst died outright, / And I had seen thee, in thy prime, / Go half to darkness, half to light!

    • Mary E. Coleridge,
    • "Horror" (1888), in Theresa Whistler, ed., The Collected Poems of Mary Coleridge ()
  • Eyes, what are they? Colored glass, / Where reflections come and pass. / Open windows — by them sit / Beauty, Learning, Love, and Wit.

    • Mary E. Coleridge,
    • "Eyes" (1890), in Theresa Whistler, ed., The Collected Poems of Mary Coleridge ()
  • Others may woo thee, Sleep; so will not I. / Dear is each minute of my conscious breath, / Hard fate, that, ere the time be come to die, / Myself, to live, must nightly mimic death.

    • Mary E. Coleridge,
    • "Sleep" (1890), in Theresa Whistler, ed., The Collected Poems of Mary Coleridge ()

Mary E. Coleridge, English poet, writer

(1861 - 1907)

Full name: Mary Elizabeth Coleridge.