With troubled heart and trembling hand I write.
The heavens have changed to sorrow my delight.
How oft with dissappointment have I met
When I on fading things my hopes have set.
Experience might 'fore this have made me wise
To value things according to their price.
Was ever stable joy yet found below?
Or perfect bliss without mixture of woe?
I knew she was but as a withering flower,
That's here today, perhaps gone in an hour;
Like as a bubble, or the brittle glass,
Or like a shadow turning, as it was.
More fool, then, I to look on that was lent
As if mine own, when thus impermanent.
Farewell, dear child; thou ne'er shalt come to me,
But yet a while and I shall go to thee.
Meantime my throbbing heart's cheered up with this—
Thou with thy Savior art in endless bliss.
Notes
This poem is taken from Bradstreet's book "Several Poems" printed by John Foster of Boston in 1678
Leave a guest comment (subject to review)
Comments
-
From guest Felix (contact)
Anne Bradstreet died in the year 1672, so how could she write a poem about her grandchild's death in 1699? -
-
For Guest Felix
Many thanks for pointing out our typo in the title of this piece.
As you can see I have now corrected it to 1669 which is as it appears in her book Several Poems published in Boston in 1678 as from "A gentlewoman in New England"
Jim
Oldpoetry Team
-
-
-
Bravo!
Extremely poignant, wonderful, enough to make you cry.
Adding your comment:
