The stones and trees, insensible to time, / Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen; / If Winter come, and greenness then do fade / A Spring returns, and they more youthful made; / But man grows old,… — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
When I behold the heavens as in their prime, And then the earth (though old) still clad in green, The stones and trees, insensible of time, Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, I here, though there, yet both but one. — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee; If ever wife was happy in a… — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
“Authority without wisdom is like a heavy axe without an edge, fitter to bruise than polish.” — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
There is no object that we see; no action that we do; no good that we enjoy; no evil that we feel, or fear,… — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
“Let such as say our sex is void of reason, Know it is slander now but once was treason.” — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
What to my Saviour shall I giveWho freely hath done this for me?I'll serve him here whilst I shall liveAnd Loue him to Eternity — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
The stones and trees, insensible to time, / Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen; / If Winter come, and greenness then… — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee. — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
Satan, that great angler, hath his sundry baits for sundry tempers of men, which they all catch greedily at, but few perceive the hook… — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
“...And although thus short, we shorten many ways, Living so little while we are alive; In eating, drinking, sleeping, vain delight So unawares comes… — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
I am obnoxious to each carping tongue who says my hand a needle better fits, — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
My age I will not once lament, / But sing, my time so near is spent. — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
