Poems by Anne Bradstreet

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New England.
Ask not why hearts turn Magazines of passions,
Absent upon Public Employment
Phoebus make haste, the day's too long, begone,
To finish what's begun, was my intent,
When England did enjoy her Halsion dayes,
Here lyes,
As loving hind that (hartless) wants her deer,
All things within this fading world hath end,
By night when others soundly slept
Some time now past in the Autumnal Tide,
2. Sam. I. 19.
Worthy art Thou, O Lord, of praise,
In my distress I sought the Lord
Her Mother's Epitaph
By night when others soundly slept,
Among the happy wits this age hath shown
Farewel dear babe, my hearts too much content,
With troubled heart and trembling hand I write.
I had eight birds hatched in one nest,
What shall I render to Thy name
A ship that bears much sail, and little ballast, is easily overset; and that man, whose head hath great abilities, and his heart little or no grace, is in danger of foundering.
Lo now four other act upon the stage,
The former four now ending their discourse,
No sooner come, but gone, and fal'n asleep,
Thou ill-form'd offspring of my feeble brain,
In secret place where once I stood
The Fire, Air, Earth and Water did contest
When time was young, & World in Infancy,
To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings,
Stout Romulus, Romes founder, and first King,
Cyrus Cambyses Son of Persia King,
Great Alexander was wise Philips son,
As he said vanity, so vain say I,
And live I still to see relations gone,
Most truly honoured, and as truly dear,
Dear Sir of late delighted with the sight
By duty bound, and not by custome led