Anne Bradstreet Poems

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Anne Bradstreet
Anne Bradstreet (ca. 1612 September 16, 1672) was the first American female writer, and the first American female poet/author to have her works published. Bradstreet was born Anne Dudley in Northampton, England, most likely in 1612. She was the daughter of Thomas Dudley, a steward of the Earl of Lincoln, and Dorothy Yorke. Due to her family's position she grew up in cultured circumstances and was an unusually well-educated woman for her time, being tutored in history, several languages, and literature. At the age of sixteen she married Simon Bradstreet. Both Anne's father and Anne's husband were later to serve as governors of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Anne and Simon, along with Anne's parents, emigrated to America aboard the Arbella during the "Great Migration" in 1630. Her 1630 emigration to Salem aboard the Arbella was a difficult three-month journey during which many of her fellow shipmates perished, unable to survive the harsh climate, poor living conditions and bouts of scurvy. Bradstreet was ill-prepared for such rigorous travel and found the journey very difficult. The migrants' trials and tribulations did not end upon their arrival, however, as many of the survivors died shortly thereafter or elected to return to England. Thomas Dudley and his friend John Winthrop made up the Boston settlement's government: Winthrop was Governor, Dudley Deputy-Governor and Simon Bradstreet Chief-Administrator. Having previously been afflicted with smallpox, Anne would once again fall prey to illness as paralysis took over her joints; however, she did not let her predicament dim her passion for living, and creating a home and family with her husband. Despite her poor health, she had eight children and achieved a comfortable social standing. Tragedy struck one night in 1666 when the Bradstreet home was engulfed in flames; a devastating fire that left the family homeless and devoid of personal belongings for a time. By then, Anne Bradstreet's health was slowly failing. She suffered from tuberculosis and had to deal with the loss of her daughter Dorothy to illness as well. But her will remained strong, and perhaps, as a reflection of her religious devotion and her knowledge of Biblical scriptures, she found peace in the firm belief that her daughter was in heaven. Bradstreet's education allowed her to write with authority about politics, history, medicine, and theology. Her personal library of books was said to have numbered over 800, many of which were destroyed when her home burned down on July 10, 1666. This event itself inspired a poem entitled "Upon the Burning of Our House July 10th, 1666", wherein Bradstreet rejects the anger and grief that this worldly tragedy has caused her and instead looks toward God and the assurance of heaven as consolation, saying: "And when I could no longer look, I blest his grace 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." Anne Bradstreet died on September 16, 1672, in Andover, Massachusetts, at the age 60. The precise location of her grave is uncertain as she may either have been buried next to her husband in "the Old Burying Point" in Salem, Massachusetts, or in "the Old Burying Ground" on Academy Road in North Andover, Massachusetts.

fear no more the heat o' the sun
 
 
Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task ha... [read poem]
when in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes (sonnet xxix)
 
 
When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And tro... [read poem]
pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth
 
 
O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!... [read poem]
blow, winds, and crack your cheeks
 
 
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till ... [read poem]
the author to her book
 
 
Thou ill-form'd offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth did'st by my side remain,
Ti... [read poem]
full many a glorious morning have i seen (sonnets xxxiii)
 
 
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,
Kis... [read poem]
winter
 
 
When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail
And Tom bears logs in... [read poem]
my mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (sonnets cxxx)
 
 
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If s... [read poem]
when that i was and a little tiny boy
 
 
When that I was and a little tiny boy
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing... [read poem]
not marble, nor the gilded monuments (sonnet lv)
 
 
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rime;
But you... [read poem]
where the bee sucks
 
 
Where the bee sucks, there suck I;
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do c... [read poem]
come, night; come, romeo
 
 
Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night... [read poem]
let me not to the marriage of true minds (sonnet cxvi)
 
 
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters ... [read poem]
the quality of mercy is not strain'd
 
 
The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the ... [read poem]
admired miranda!
 
 
Admired Miranda!
Indeed the top of admiration! worth
What's dearest to the world! Full man... [read poem]
our revels now are ended
 
 
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are me... [read poem]
to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow
 
 
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the ... [read poem]
full fathom five
 
 
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that w... [read poem]
not from the stars do i my judgment pluck (sonnets xiv)
 
 
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck,
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to t... [read poem]
shall i compare thee to a summer's day? (sonnets xviii)
 
 
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough win... [read poem]
so is it not with me as with that muse (sonnets xxi)
 
 
So is it not with me as with that Muse
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heave... [read poem]
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