Anna Laetitia Barbauld

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

Anna Laetitia Barbauld Poems

81. Enigma 9/6/2010
82. Eighteen Hundred And Eleven 9/6/2010
83. Dirge 9/6/2010
84. Delia, An Elegy 9/6/2010
85. Dejection 9/6/2010
86. Corsica 9/6/2010
87. Come, Said Jesus 9/6/2010
88. Characters 9/6/2010
89. Behold 9/6/2010
90. Beauty Of Insects 9/6/2010
91. Awake My Soul! 9/6/2010
92. Autumn 9/6/2010
93. An Inventory Of The Furniture In Dr. Priestley's Study 9/6/2010
94. An Autumnal Thought 9/6/2010
95. An Address To The Deity 9/6/2010
96. A Thought On Death 9/6/2010
97. A Summer Evening's Meditation 9/6/2010
98. A School Eclogue 9/6/2010
Best Poem of Anna Laetitia Barbauld

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,
Feeds the fierce strife, the' alternate hope and fear;
Bravely, though vainly, dares to strive with Fate,
And seeks by turns to prop each sinking state.
Colossal power with overwhelming force
Bears down each fort of Freedom in its course;
Prostrate she lies beneath the Despot's sway,
While the hushed nations curse him—and obey.

Bounteous in vain, with frantic man at strife,
Glad Nature pours the means—the joys of ...

Read the full of Eighteen Hundred And Eleven

An Address To The Deity

God of my life! and author of my days!
Permit my feeble voice to lisp thy praise;
And trembling, take upon a mortal tongue
That hallowed name to harps of seraphs sung.
Yet here the brightest seraphs could no more
Than veil their faces, tremble, and adore.
Worms, angels, men, in every different sphere
Are equal all,—for all are nothing here.
All nature faints beneath the mighty name,

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