Anne Bradstreet

(1612 – 16 September 1672 / Northampton, England)

Comments about Anne Bradstreet

  • bob lowery (9/20/2018 8:50:00 AM)

    lick and take names

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • leroy (9/20/2018 8:15:00 AM)

    Thicc nibbas and anime tiddeys

  • Danny Devito (5/14/2018 12:40:00 PM)

    What comes up must come down.(twin towers 9/11)

  • Big boy (4/24/2018 1:59:00 PM)

    I sometimes lick my own cum

  • Night stick (4/20/2018 12:33:00 PM)

    Get the night sticks we got a fighter over here.

  • Adolf Hitler support (4/18/2018 12:35:00 PM)

    I beat my son with my lash. He then hit me with the slave beater 9000. I hit him with a cane and he told me to suck his

  • KKK group (4/18/2018 12:33:00 PM)

    I Adolf Hitler and the nazis support the kkk and the white power movement.

  • Stonewall Jackson (4/18/2018 12:00:00 PM)

    I beat my slaves like a stonewall in Jacksonville. The slaves tell me to stop but since I'm a stone wall I can't stop.

  • Ulysses S Grant (4/17/2018 12:49:00 PM)

    Aiiiiii LIIIIKKKKLLEEEEE BIIIGGG ROBERT E LEE

  • PORNHUB (4/17/2018 12:39:00 PM)

    I HAVE AUTISM THHSJ MY DOWN SYNDROME FRIENDS AN DNI LAOKE TTO SOOUUCK DIIICK AND LIKEE CUMMM

Best Poem of Anne Bradstreet

To My Dear And Loving Husband

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompetence.
Thy love is such I can no way repay.
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let's so persever
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Read the full of To My Dear And Loving Husband

The Author To Her Book

Thou ill-form'd offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth did'st by my side remain,
Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true,
Who thee abroad expos'd to public view,
Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call.
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,

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