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The Author to Her Book

By Anne Bradstreet

Thou ill-form’d offspring of my feeble brain,

Who after birth didst by my side remain,

Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true,

Who thee abroad, expos’d to publick view,

Made thee in raggs, halting to th’ press to trudge,

Where errors were not lessened (all may judg).

At thy return my blushing was not small,

My rambling brat (in print) should mother call,

I cast thee by as one unfit for light,

Thy Visage was so irksome in my sight;

Yet being mine own, at length affection would

Thy blemishes amend, if so I could:

I wash’d thy face, but more defects I saw,

And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.

I stretched thy joynts to make thee even feet,

Yet still thou run’st more hobling then is meet;

In better dress to trim thee was my mind,

But nought save home-spun Cloth, i’ th’ house I find.

In this array ’mongst Vulgars mayst thou roam.

In Criticks hands, beware thou dost not come;

And take thy way where yet thou art not known,

If for thy Father askt, say, thou hadst none:

And for thy Mother, she alas is poor,

Which caus’d her thus to send thee out of door.

Before the Birth of One of Her Children

By Anne Bradstreet

All things within this fading world hath end,

Adversity doth still our joyes attend;

No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet,

But with death’s parting blow is sure to meet.

The sentence past is most irrevocable,

A common thing, yet oh inevitable.

How soon, my Dear, death may my steps attend,

How soon’t may be thy Lot to lose thy friend,

We are both ignorant, yet love bids me

These farewell lines to recommend to thee,

That when that knot’s untied that made us one,

I may seem thine, who in effect am none.

And if I see not half my dayes that’s due,

What nature would, God grant to yours and you;

The many faults that well you know I have

Let be interr’d in my oblivious grave;

If any worth or virtue were in me,

Let that live freshly in thy memory

And when thou feel’st no grief, as I no harms,

Yet love thy dead, who long lay in thine arms.

And when thy loss shall be repaid with gains

Look to my little babes, my dear remains.

And if thou love thyself, or loved’st me,

These o protect from step Dames injury.

And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse,

With some sad sighs honour my absent Herse;

And kiss this paper for thy loves dear sake,

Who with salt tears this last Farewel did take.

By Night when Others Soundly Slept

By Anne Bradstreet

1

By night when others soundly slept

And hath at once both ease and Rest,

My waking eyes were open kept

And so to lie I found it best.

2

I sought him whom my Soul did Love,

With tears I sought him earnestly.

He bow’d his ear down from Above.

In vain I did not seek or cry.

3

My hungry Soul he fill’d with Good;

He in his Bottle put my tears,

My smarting wounds washt in his blood,

And banisht thence my Doubts and fears.

4

What to my Saviour shall I give

Who freely hath done this for me?

I’ll serve him here whilst I shall live

And Loue him to Eternity.

In Reference to her Children, 23 June 1659

By Anne Bradstreet

I had eight birds hatcht in one nest,

Four Cocks were there, and Hens the rest.

I nurst them up with pain and care,

No cost nor labour did I spare

Till at the last they felt their wing,

Mounted the Trees and learned to sing.

Chief of the Brood then took his flight

To Regions far and left me quite.

My mournful chirps I after send

Till he return, or I do end.

Leave not thy nest, thy Dame and Sire,

Fly back and sing amidst this Quire.

My second bird did take her flight

And with her mate flew out of sight.

Southward they both their course did bend,

And Seasons twain they there did spend,

Till after blown by Southern gales

They Norward steer’d with filled sails.

A prettier bird was no where seen,

Along the Beach, among the treen.

I have a third of colour white

On whom I plac’d no small delight,

Coupled with mate loving and true,

Hath also bid her Dame adieu.

And where Aurora first appears,

She now hath percht to spend her years.

One to the Academy flew

To chat among that learned crew.

Ambition moves still in his breast

That he might chant above the rest,

Striving for more than to do well,

That nightingales he might excell.

My fifth, whose down is yet scarce gone,

Is ‘mongst the shrubs and bushes flown

And as his wings increase in strength

On higher boughs he’ll perch at length.

My other three still with me nest

Until they’re grown, then as the rest,

Or here or there, they’ll take their flight,

As is ordain’d, so shall they light.

If birds could weep, then would my tears

Let others know what are my fears

Lest this my brood some harm should catch

And be surpris’d for want of watch

Whilst pecking corn and void of care

They fall un’wares in Fowler’s snare;

Or whilst on trees they sit and sing

Some untoward boy at them do fling,

Or whilst allur’d with bell and glass

The net be spread and caught, alas;

Or lest by Lime-twigs they be foil’d;

Or by some greedy hawks be spoil’d.

O would, my young, ye saw my breast

And knew what thoughts there sadly rest.

Great was my pain when I you bred,

Great was my care when I you fed.

Long did I keep you soft and warm

And with my wings kept off all harm.

My cares are more, and fears, than ever,

My throbs such now as ‘fore were never.

Alas, my birds, you wisdom want

Of perils you are ignorant.

Oft times in grass, on trees, in flight,

Sore accidents on you may light.

O to your safety have an eye,

So happy may you live and die.

Mean while, my days in tunes I’ll spend

Till my weak lays with me shall end.

In shady woods I’ll sit and sing

And things that past, to mind I’ll bring.

Once young and pleasant, as are you,

But former toys (no joys) adieu!

My age I will not once lament

But sing, my time so near is spent,

And from the top bough take my flight

Into a country beyond sight

Where old ones instantly grow young

And there with seraphims set song.

No seasons cold, nor storms they see

But spring lasts to eternity.

When each of you shall in your nest

Among your young ones take your rest,

In chirping languages oft them tell

You had a Dame that lov’d you well,

That did what could be done for young

And nurst you up till you were strong

And ‘fore she once would let you fly

She shew'd you joy and misery,

Taught what was good, and what was ill,

What would save life, and what would kill.

Thus gone, amongst you I may live,

And dead, yet speak and counsel give.

Farewell, my birds, farewell, adieu,

I happy am, if well with you.

To My Dear and Loving Husband

By Anne Bradstreet

If ever two were one, then surely we.

If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.

If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me, ye women, if you can.

I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,

Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

My love is such that rivers cannot quench,

Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.

Thy love is such I can no way repay;

The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.

Then while we live, in love let’s so persever,

That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Verses upon the Burning of our House, July 10th, 1666

By Anne Bradstreet

Here Follows Some Verses Upon the Burning

of Our house, July 10th. 1666. Copied Out of

a Loose Paper.

In silent night when rest I took,

For sorrow near I did not look,

I wakened was with thund’ring noise

And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.

That fearful sound of “fire” and “fire,”

Let no man know is my Desire.

I, starting up, the light did spy,

And to my God my heart did cry

To straighten me in my Distress

And not to leave me succourless.

Then, coming out, behold a space

The flame consume my dwelling place.

And when I could no longer look,

I blest His name that gave and took,

That laid my goods now in the dust.

Yea, so it was, and so ‘twas just.

It was his own, it was not mine,

Far be it that I should repine;

He might of all justly bereft

But yet sufficient for us left.

When by the ruins oft I past

My sorrowing eyes aside did cast

And here and there the places spy

Where oft I sate and long did lie.

Here stood that trunk, and there that chest,

There lay that store I counted best.

My pleasant things in ashes lie

And them behold no more shall I.

Under thy roof no guest shall sit,

Nor at thy Table eat a bit.

No pleasant talk shall ‘ere be told

Nor things recounted done of old.

No Candle e'er shall shine in Thee,

Nor bridegroom‘s voice e'er heard shall be.

In silence ever shalt thou lie,

Adieu, Adieu, all’s vanity.

Then straight I ‘gin my heart to chide,

And did thy wealth on earth abide?

Didst fix thy hope on mould'ring dust?

The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?

Raise up thy thoughts above the sky

That dunghill mists away may fly.

Thou hast a house on high erect

Frameed by that mighty Architect,

With glory richly furnished,

Stands permanent though this be fled.

It‘s purchased and paid for too

By Him who hath enough to do.

A price so vast as is unknown,

Yet by His gift is made thine own;

There‘s wealth enough, I need no more,

Farewell, my pelf, farewell, my store.

The world no longer let me love,

My hope and treasure lies above.

Resource: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poets/detail/anne-

bradstreet#about