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My day is closed! the gloom of night is come! a hopeless darkness settles over my fate.

Joanna Baillie

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Joanna Baillie
Age: 88 †
Born: 1762
Born: September 11
Died: 1851
Died: February 23
Playwright
Poet
Tragedy Writer
Writer
Joanna Baillie
Darkness
Night
Settles
Come
Gloom
Hopeless
Settling
Closed
Despair
Fate

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The plainest case in many words entangling.
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A willing heart adds feather to the heel.
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Men's actions to futurity appear but as the events to which they are conjoined do give them consequence.
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But woman's grief is like a summer storm, Short as it violent is.
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Heaven often smites in mercy, even when the blow is severest.
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Half-uttered praise is to the curious mind, as to the eye half-veiled beauty is, more precious than the whole.
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Ah! happy is the man whose early lot Hath made him master of a furnish'd cot Who trains the vine that round his window grows, And after setting sun his garden hoes Whose wattled pails his own enclosure shield, Who toils not daily in another's field.
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The bliss even of a moment still is bliss.
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Tis ever thus: indulgence spoils the base Raising up pride, and lawless turbulence, Like noxious vapors from the fulsome marsh When morning shines upon it.
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She who only finds her self-esteem In others' admiration, begs an alms Depends on others for her daily food, And is the very servant of her slaves Tho' oftentimes, in a fantastic hour, O'er men she may a childish pow'r exert, Which not ennobles but degrades her state.
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But dreams full oft are found of real events The form and shadows.
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I wish I were with some of the wild people that run in the woods, and know nothing about accomplishments!
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Oh swiftly glides the bonnie boat, Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus-note Soft moves the dipping oar.
Joanna Baillie
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Think'st thou there are no serpents in the world But those who slide along the grassy sod, And sting the luckless foot that presses them? There are who in the path of social life Do bask their spotted skins in Fortune's sun, And sting the soul.
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I have seen the day, when, if a man made himself ridiculous, the world would laugh at him. But now, everything that is mean, disgusting, and absurd, pleases them but so much the better!
Joanna Baillie
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Pride is a fault that great men blush not to own: it is the ennobled offspring of self-love though, it must be confessed, grave and pompous vanity, Iike a fat plebeian in a rove of office, does very often assume its name.
Joanna Baillie
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Busy work brings after ease Ease brings sport and sport brings rest For young and old, of all degrees, The mingled lot is best.
Joanna Baillie
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A woman is seldom roused to great and courageous exertion but when something most dear to her is in immediate danger.
Joanna Baillie
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Good-morrow to thy sable beak, And glossy plumage, dark and sleek, Thy crimson moon and azure eye
Joanna Baillie
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I am as one Who doth attempt some lofty mountain's height, And having gained what to the upcast eye The summit's point appear'd, astonished sees Its cloudy top, majestic and enlarged, Towering aloft, as distant as before.
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