From the First American Poet

Poet: Anne Bradstreet

Context: before the birth of one of her children

All things within this fading world have end.

Adversity doth still our joys attend;

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

But with death's parting blow are sure to meet.

The sentence passed is most irrevocable,

A common thing, yet, oh, inevitable.

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

How soon it may be thy lot to lose thy friend,

We both are 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 days that are due,

What nature would God grant to yours and you.

The many faults that well you know I have

Let be interred in my oblivion's grave;

If any worth or virtue were in me,

Let that live freshly in thy memory,

And when thou feelest 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 though love thyself, or lovedst me,

These oh protect from stepdam's injury.

And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse,

With some sad sighs honor my absent hearse;

And kiss this paper for thy love's dear sake,

Who with salt tears this last farewell did take.

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This was an assigned reading I had for American History, and I thought it was great. This is the second time I've encountered Anne Bradstreet, and she not has disappointed me yet.