In Memory of My Dear Grandchild Anne Bradstreet, Who Deceased June 20, 1669, Being Three Years and Seven Months Old (1678)



With troubled heart and trembling hand I write,

The Heavens have chang’d to sorrow my delight.

How oft with disappointment 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.


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This work (The Renewable Anthology of Early American Literature by Jared Aragona) is free of known copyright restrictions.

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