Anna Laetitia Barbauld

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

Anna Laetitia Barbauld Poems

1. A School Eclogue 9/6/2010
2. A Summer Evening's Meditation 9/6/2010
3. A Thought On Death 9/6/2010
4. An Address To The Deity 9/6/2010
5. An Autumnal Thought 9/6/2010
6. An Inventory Of The Furniture In Dr. Priestley's Study 9/6/2010
7. Autumn 9/6/2010
8. Awake My Soul! 9/6/2010
9. Beauty Of Insects 9/6/2010
10. Behold 9/6/2010
11. Characters 9/6/2010
12. Come, Said Jesus 9/6/2010
13. Corsica 9/6/2010
14. Dejection 9/6/2010
15. Delia, An Elegy 9/6/2010
16. Dirge 9/6/2010
17. Eighteen Hundred And Eleven 9/6/2010
18. Enigma 9/6/2010
19. Epistle To Dr. Enfield 9/6/2010
20. Epistle To William Wilberforce, Esq. 9/6/2010
21. Epitaph On The Same 9/6/2010
22. Epithalamium 9/6/2010
23. Eternity 9/6/2010
24. For Easter Sunday 9/6/2010
25. Fragment 9/6/2010
26. How Blest The Righteous When He Dies! 9/6/2010
27. Hymn To Content 9/6/2010
28. Hymn: Ye Are The Salt Of The Earth 9/6/2010
29. In The Manner Of Spenser 9/6/2010
30. Inscription For An Ice-House 9/6/2010
31. Jehovah Reigns 9/6/2010
32. Joy To The Followers Of The Lord 9/6/2010
33. Life! I Know Not What Thou Art 9/6/2010
34. Lines 9/6/2010
35. Logogriph 9/6/2010
36. Octogenery Reflections 9/6/2010
37. Ode To Remorse 9/6/2010
38. Ode To Spring 9/6/2010
39. On A Lady's Writing 9/6/2010
40. On A Portrait 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

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!
When just is seized some valued prize,
And duties press, and tender ties
Forbid the soul from earth to rise,-
How awful then it is to die!
When, one by one, those ties are torn,

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