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

The Caterpillar

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.
Yet...

Read the full of The Caterpillar

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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