Anna Laetitia Barbauld

(20 June 1743 – 9 March 1825 / Leicestershire, England)

Anna Laetitia Barbauld Poems

81. To Mr. S. T. Coleridge 9/6/2010
82. To Mrs. A. 9/6/2010
83. To Mrs. Marissal 9/6/2010
84. To Mrs. P********, With Some Drawings Of Birds And Insects. 9/6/2010
85. To The Baron Destonne 9/6/2010
86. To The Baron Destonne, 9/6/2010
87. To The Miss Websters 9/6/2010
88. To The Poor 9/6/2010
89. To Wisdom 9/6/2010
90. Tomorrow 9/6/2010
91. Tormenting Cares 9/6/2010
92. Verses On Mrs Rowe 9/6/2010
93. Verses Written In An Alcove 9/6/2010
94. Washing-Day 9/6/2010
95. West End Fair 9/6/2010
96. What Do The Futures Speak Of? 9/6/2010
97. Where A Crowd Of Pilgrims Toil 9/6/2010
98. Written On A Marble 9/6/2010
Best Poem of Anna Laetitia Barbauld

Autumn

A FRAGMENT

Farewell the softer hours, Spring's opening blush
And Summer's deeper glow, the shepherd's pipe
Tuned to the murmurs of a weeping spring,
And song of birds, and gay enameled fields,—
Farewell! 'T is now the sickness of the year,
Not to be medicined by the skillful hand.
Pale suns arise that like weak kings behold
Their predecessor's empire moulder from them;
While swift-increasing spreads the black domain
Of melancholy Night;—no more content
With equal sway, her stretching shadows gain
On the bright morn, and cloud the evening sky.
Farewell...

Read the full of Autumn

A School Eclogue

Edward

Hist, William! hist! what means that air so gay?
Thy looks, thy dress, bespeak some holiday:
Thy hat is brushed; thy hands, with wondrous pains,
Are cleansed from garden mould and inky stains;
Thy glossy shoes confess the lacquey's care;
And recent from the comb shines thy sleek hair.
What god, what saint, this prodigy has wrought?

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