I am obnoxious to each carping tongue/ Who says my hand a needle better fits./ A poet's pen all scorn I should thus wrong/ For such despite they cast on female wits;/ If what I do prove well, it won't… — Anne Bradstreet Copy Share Image
O Time the fatal wrack of mortal things, That draws oblivion's curtains over kings; Their sumptuous monuments, men know them not, Their names without a record are forgot, Their parts, their ports, their pomps all laid in th' dust Nor… — 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
