Anna Laetitia Barbauld
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|
|92.||Verses On Mrs Rowe||9/6/2010|
|93.||Verses Written In An Alcove||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|
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
The dazzled sight, but with mild maiden beams
Of temper'd light, invite the cherish'd eye
To wander o'er their sphere; where hung aloft
DIAN's bright crescent, like a silver bow
New strung in heaven, lifts high its beamy horns
Impatient for the night, and seems to push
Her brother down the sky. Fair VENUS shines
Even in the eye of day; with sweetest beam
Propitious shines, and shakes a trembling flood
Of soften'd radiance...
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,