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Adelaide Anne Proctor
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“Do not cheat thy Heart and tell her / 'Grief will pass away, / Hope for fairer times in future, / And forget to-day.' — / ... / Rather nurse her cagèd sorrow / 'Till the captive sings. / ... / Bid her with a strong clasp hold her / By her dusky wings — / Listening for the murmured blessing / Sorrow always brings.”
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“One by one the sands are flowing, / One by one the moments fall; / Some are coming, some are going; / Do not strive to grasp them all.”
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“Oh, these are Voices of the Past, / Links of a broken chain, / Wings that can bear me back to Times / Which cannot come again — / Yet God forbid that I should lose / The echoes that remain!”
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“... mine enemy is Grief! ... And one of us must die!”
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“See how Time makes all grief decay ...”
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“Dwells within the soul of every Artist / More than all his effort can express; / And he knows the best remains unuttered, / Sighing at what we call his success.”
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“... what the lips have lightly said / The heart will lightly hold.”
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“The sun of every day will bleach / The costliest purple hue, / And so our common daily speech / Discolors what was true.”
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“No star is ever lost we once have seen, / We always may be what we might have been ...”
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“The hopes that lost in some far distance seem, / May be the truer life, and this the dream.”
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“Seated one day at the Organ, / I was weary and ill at ease, / And my fingers wandered idly / Over the noisy keys. / ... / But I struck one chord of music, / Like the sound of a great Amen.”
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“Half my life is full of sorrow, / Half of joy, still fresh and new; / One of these lives is a fancy, / But the other one is true.”
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“Jar one chord, the harp is silent; move one stone, the arch is shattered; / ... / One dark cloud can hide the sunlight; loose one string, the pearls are scattered; / Think one thought, a soul may perish; say one word, a heart may break!”
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“Dreams grow holy, put in action ...”
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“Nothing is our own: we hold our pleasures / Just a little while, ere they are fled: / One by one life robs us of our treasures: / Nothing is our own except our Dead.”
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“I brought Good Desires, / Though as yet but seeds; / Let the New Year make them / Blossom into Deeds.”
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“Time's great gift can heal the fevers / Called Remembrance and Regret.”
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“I know too well the poison and the sting / Of things too sweet.”
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“The men are much alarmed by certain speculations about women; and well they may be, for when the horse and ass begin to think and argue, adieu to riding and driving.”
Adelaide Anne Proctor, English poet, women's rights worker
(1825 - 1864)
She also wrote as Mary Berwick.