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

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Best Poem of Anna Laetitia Barbauld

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,
And friend from friend is snatched forlorn,
And man is left alone to mourn,-
Ah then, how easy 'tis to die!
When faith is firm, and conscience clear,
And words of peace the spirit cheer,
And visioned glories half appear,-
'Tis joy, 'tis ...

Read the full of A Thought On Death

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

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