Anna Laetitia Barbauld
Anna Laetitia Barbauld was a prominent English Romantic poet, essayist, and children's author.
A "woman of letters" who published in multiple genres, Barbauld had a successful writing career at a time when female professional writers were rare. She was a noted teacher at the Palgrave Academy and an innovative children's writer; her primers provided a model for pedagogy for more than a century. Her essays demonstrated that it was possible for a woman to be publicly engaged in politics, and other women authors emulated her.Even more important, her poetry was foundational to the development of Romanticism in England. Barbauld was also a literary critic, and her anthology of... more »
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Anna Laetitia Barbauld Poems
No, helpless thing, I cannot harm thee now; Depart in peace, thy little life is safe, For I have scanned thy form with curious eye,
A Summer Evening's Meditation
'TIS past! The sultry tyrant of the south Has spent his short-liv'd rage; more grateful hours Move silent on; the skies no more repel
Farewell the softer hours, Spring's opening blush And Summer's deeper glow, the shepherd's pipe
Eighteen Hundred And Eleven
Still the loud death drum, thundering from afar, O'er the vext nations pours the storm of war: To the stern call still Britain bends her ear,
Epistle To William Wilberforce, Esq.
Cease, Wilberforce, to urge thy generous aim! Thy Country knows the sin, and s ...
For Easter Sunday
Again the Lord of life and light Awakes the kindling ray; Unseals the eyelids of the morn, And pours increasing day.
A Thought on Death
When life as opening buds is sweet, And golden hopes the fancy greet, And Youth prepares his joys to meet,- Alas! how hard it is to die!
Of unsubmitting spirit, wise and brave; Who still through bleeding ages struggled hard To hold a generous undiminished state;
Inscription For An Ice-House
Stranger, approach! within this iron door Thrice locked and bolted, this rude arch beneath That vaults with ponderous stone the cell; confined
--- The year has run Its round of seasons, has fulfilled its course, Absolved its destined period, and is borne,
Epitaph On The Same
Farewell, mild saint!—meek child of love, farewell! Ill can this stone thy finished virtues tell. Rest, rest in peace! the task of life is o'er;
Pure spirit! O where art thou now! O whisper to my soul! O let some soothing thought of thee, The bitter grief control!
An Autumnal Thought
'Tis past! we breathe! assuaged at length The flames that drank our vital strength! Smote with intolerable heat
Hard is my stem and dry, no root is found To draw nutritious juices from the ground; Yet of your ivory fingers' magic touch
Comments about Anna Laetitia Barbauld
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No, helpless thing, I cannot harm thee now;
Depart in peace, thy little life is safe,
For I have scanned thy form with curious eye,
Noted the silver line that streaks thy back,
The azure and the orange that divide
Thy velvet sides; thee, houseless wanderer,
My garment has enfolded, and my arm
Felt the light pressure of thy hairy feet;
Thou hast curled round my finger; from its tip,
Precipitous descent! with stretched out neck,
Bending thy head in airy vacancy,
This way and that, inquiring, thou hast seemed
To ask protection; now, I cannot kill thee.