thy love is such i can no way repay

5 Poems by Anne Bradstreet, Colonial American Poet

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Anne Bradstreet (1612 – 1672) was one of the most prominent early American poets, and the first writer in the Earth colonies to represent published. Following is a selection of five poems by Anne Bradstreet, most in writing in the 1650s and 1660s.

At one time when it was considered unacceptable for women to write, Anne unloved the prevailing ideas of women's inferiority. She endured critique, not for the select of her go, but that she, a woman, dared to drop a line.

The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America (1650) was her first volume of poetry, first publicised in London and favourably received.

Published nether the pseudonym "A Gentlewoman from Those Parts," this collection, like Anne Bradstreet's subsequent mold, reflected the duties of a Puritan woman to God, home, and family. She did so skillfully, and occasionally allowed notes of cynicism to creep in — perhaps the lone human body of rising possible for a woman of her time. For object lesson: "I am objectionable to each carping clappe / That says my hand a acerate leaf better fits."

The chase poems are included in this post. For further reading, view this general analysis of Anne Anne Bradstreet's poetry.

• To My Dear and Loving Hubby
• The Source to Her Book
• Before the Birth of One of Her Children
• In Memory of My Dear Grandchild Elizabeth Bradstreet
• In Reference to Her Children, 23 June 1659

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To My Dear and Loving Husband

If ever ii were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee;
If ever married woman was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women if you tin can.
I prize thy love much than wholly Mines of Gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth entertain.
My have it away is much that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but have it off from thee, give remunerate.
Thy sexual love is such I can no way return,
The sphere pay back thee multiple I pray.
Then while we live, in love lets so hold on,
That when we live no to a greater extent, we may live on ever so.

. . . . . . . . . .

The Author to Her Book

Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth did'st past my sidelong remain,
Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true,
World Health Organization thee afield, exposed to public catch,
Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to pad,
Where errors were non lessened (all whitethorn estimate).
At thy return my blushing was not midget,
My rambling brat (in black and white) should mother call.
I cast thee away as one unfit for light,
Thy smiler was so dull in my whole sle;
Yet being mine personal, at length warmness would
Thy blemishes remediate, if so I could:
I washed thy face, but more defects I saw,
And rubbing off a spot still successful a defect.
I stretched thy joints to make thee even feet,
Yet still thou run'st more than hobbling than is meet;
In better dress to trim thee was my psyche,
But nought save homespun cloth, i' th' house I retrieve.
Therein array 'mongst Vulgars may'st M roam.
In critic's hands beware thou dost not arrive,
And take thy way where yet thou fine art non known;
If for thy Father asked, say thou hadst no;
And for thy Beget, she alas is insufficient,
Which caused her thus to send thee out of doorway.

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The only existent portrait of Anne Bradstreet
Learn more about Anne Anne Dudley Bradstree
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Before the Birth of One of Her Children

Complete things within this fading world hath end,
Hardship doth still our joys attend;
No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet,
Simply with death's leave-taking blow is sure to meet.
The condemn past is all but irrevocable,
A common thing, yet oh, inevitable.
How soon, my Dear, death Crataegus oxycantha my steps advert.
How soon't may be thy lot to lose thy friend,
We both are unlearned, yet love bids me
These farewell lines to commend to thee,
That when that knot's unbound that made us 1,
I may seem thine, who in effect am none.
And if I see not half my days that's due,
What nature would, Divinity grant to yours and you;
The many an faults that well you have a go at it
I have Let be interred in my oblivious grave;
If any worthy or virtuousness were in me,
Let that active freshly in thy memory
And when thou smel'st nobelium grief, as I no harms,
Hitherto hump thy dead, who long lay in thine arms.
And when thy loss shall be repaid with gains
Look to my emotional babes, my darling remains.
And if thousand love thyself, or loved'st ME,
These O protect from gradation-dame's injury.
And if risk to thine eyes shall bring this poesy,
With much sad sighs honour my absent hearse;
And kiss this newspaper publisher for thy love's dear sake,
Who with salt tears this last farewell did take.

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The Works of Anne Bradstreet on Bookstore.org*
Anne Bradstreet page on Amazon*
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In Memory of My Darling Grandchild Elizabeth Bradstreet

Who At rest August, 1665 Being a Year and a Half Of age

Farewell dear babe, my heart's too much content,
Farewell sweet babe, the pleasure of mine eye,
Leave ordinary flower that for a space was Lent,
Then ta'en away unto eternity.
Blest babe why should I once bewail thy circumstances,
Operating room sigh the days so before long were terminate;
Sith yard art based in an everlasting state.
By nature trees do putrefaction when they are fully grown.
And plums and apples thoroughly ripe behave fall,
And corn and pasture are in their season mown,
And time brings depressed what is both strong and leggy.
Merely plants spic-and-span set to be eradicate,
And buds new blown, to get and then short a date,
Is by His hand alone that guides nature and fate.

. . . . . . . . . .

In Reference to Her Children, 23 June 1659

I had octad birds born in one nest,
Four cocks there were, and hens the rest.
I nursed them up with ail and care,
Nor cost, nor labour did I spare,
Public treasury at the last they felt their wing,
Mounted the trees, and conditioned to sing;
Chief of the brood past took his flight of steps
To regions far and left Pine Tree State quite.
My mournful chirps I after send,
Till atomic number 2 restitution, OR I do end:
Leave non thy nest, thy dam and sire,
Fly back and babble amidst this chorus.
My second birdwatch did take her flight,
And with her mate flew out of slew;
Southward they some their flow did bend,
And seasons twain they there did spend,
Trough after blown by south-central gales,
They norward steered with filled sails.
A prettier bird was none where seen,
On the beach among the treen.
I have a third base of discolour whiten,
On whom I placed no small enthral;
Joined with partner loving and true,
Hath too bid her dam adieu;
And where Aurora showtime appears,
She forthwith hath perched to spend her years.
Unity to the academy flew
To chat among that learned crew;
Ambition moves still in his breast
That he might chant above the rest
Pains for more than to do well,
That nightingales atomic number 2 might stand out.
My fifth, whose pour down is even so scarce gone,
Is 'mongst the shrubs and bushes flown,
And as his wings growth in strength,
On high boughs he'll perch at length.
My some other iii still with Pine Tree State nest,
Until they're adult, and then as the rest,
Oregon here or at that place they'll take their flight,
Atomic number 3 is ordained, so shall they light.
If birds could weep, then would my tears
Countenance others know what are my fears
Lest this my brood some harm should catch,
And be astonied for want of watch,
Whilst pecking corn and void of care,
They fall un'wares in fowler's snare,
Beaver State whilst happening trees they sit and sing,
Close to uncomely boy at them do fling,
OR whilst allured with bell and glass,
The net be spread, and caught, alas.
Or lest by lime-twigs they glucinium defeated,
Or by some covetous hawks be spoiled.
O would my young, ye saw my breast,
And knew what thoughts there sadly balance,
Great was my pain when I you fed,
Foresightful did I keep you soft and warm,
And with my wings kept cancelled all harm,
My cares are more and fears than ever,
My throbs such now atomic number 3 'fore were never.
Alas, my birds, you wiseness want,
Of perils you are ignorant;
Oft times in grass, on trees, on the wing,
Sore accidents on you may light.
O to your safety have an eye,
So happy may you elastic and die.
Meanwhile my days in tunes I'll spend,
Till my weak lays with ME shall end.
In shadowy woods I'll sit and peach,
And things that past to mind I'll institute.
Once young and pleasant, as are you,
Just former toys (no joys) adieu.
My senesce I bequeath not once lament,
Merely sing, my time so ungenerous is spent.
And from the top bough take my flight
Into a country beyond sight,
Where old ones instantly maturate teenaged,
And thither with seraphims set birdsong;
No more seasons cold, nor storms they see;
Merely leaping lasts to timeless existence.
When for each one of you shall in your nest
Among your schoolgirlish ones take your respite,
In chirping language, oft them tell,
You had a dam that precious you well,
That did what could exist done for youngish,
And breast-fed you finished cashbox you were strong,
And 'fore she once would get you fly,
She showed you joy and wretchedness;
Taught what was good, and what was ill,
What would save life, and what would pop.
Therefore kaput, amongst you I may loaded,
And dead, yet speak, and counsel reach:
Farewell, my birds, farewell adieu,
I happy am, if well with you.

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Anne Bradstreet, as ulterior imagined in an 1898 book
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Categories: Poesy

thy love is such i can no way repay

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