Anna Laetitia Barbauld Poems

--- and their voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in its sound. ---
...

HER even lines her steady temper show;
Neat as her dress, and polish'd as her brow;
Strong as her judgment, easy as her air;
...

Behold, where breathing love divine,
Our dying Master stands!
His weeping followers gathering round
...

A map of every country known,
With not a foot to call his own.
A list of folks that kicked a dust
...

LIFE! I know not what thou art,
But know that thou and I must part;
And when, or how, or where we met,
I own to me 's a secret yet.
...

FLOWERS to the fair: To you these flowers I bring,
And strive to greet you with an earlier spring.
Flowers sweet, and gay, and delicate like you;
...

When sickness clouds the languid eye,
And seeds of sharp diseases fly
Swift through the vital frame;
...

Dear faithful object of my tender care,
Whom but my partial eyes none fancy fair;
May I unblamed display thy social mirth,
...

When, as returns this solemn day,
Man comes to meet his maker God,
What rites, what honours shall he pay?
...

Yes, Britain mourns, as with electric touch,
For youth, for love, for happiness destroyed,
Her universal population melts
...