Anne Bradstreet (1612 - 1672)

Anne Bradstreet (ca. 1612 - September 16, 1672), colonial American woman, was the first published American woman writer.

Bradstreet was born in Northampton, England. She was the daughter of Governor Thomas Dudley and Dorothy Yorke Dudley. At the age of 16, she married Simon Bradstreet, an employee and future governor of the Massachusetts Bay Company. Anne and Simon emigrated to America along with Anne's parents in 1630 aboard the Arabella. Bradstreet wrote poetry of domestic and religious themes, and in 1650, she published The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America which appeared in London. In 1678, she (posthumously) published Several Poems Compiled with Great Variety of Wit and Learning in America. She died in Andover, MA, and is buried in the Old Burying Point in Salem, MA.

The poems are by default sorted according to volume, but you can also choose to sort them alphabetically or by page views.

First Line	Comments
	3 Comments
. By night when others soundly slept	5 Comments
1 Sometime now past in the Autumnal Tide,	3 Comments
1 To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings,	2 Comments
1.1 Lo now! four other acts upon the stage,
A ship that bears much sail, and little ballast, is easily
Absent upon Public Employment	1 Comment
All things within this fading world hath end,	2 Comments
As he said vanity, so vain say I,
As he said vanity, so vain say I,
As loving hind that (hartless) wants her deer,
Be still, thou unregenerate part,
By night when others soundly slept,
Her Mother's Epitaph
I had eight birds hatched in one nest,
If ever two were one, then surely we.	16 Comments
If ever two were one, then surely we.	1 Comment
If ever two were one, then surely we.
In anguish of my heart replete with woes,	2 Comments
In my distress I sought the Lord
In secret place where once I stood	2 Comments
In secret place where once I stood	1 Comment
In silent night when rest I took	2 Comments
Lo, now four other act upon the stage,
Most truly honoured, and as truly dear,
New England.	1 Comment
O Lord, Thou hear'st my daily moan
O thou Most High who rulest all
Phoebus make haste, the day's too long, be gone,
Proem.	1 Comment
Thou ill-form'd offspring of my feeble brain,	4 Comments
Twice ten years old not fully told
What shall I render to Thy name
Worthy art Thou, O Lord, of praise,