Anne Killigrew

(1660- 16 June 1685 / London)

Anne Killigrew Poems

1. Upon A Little Lady 4/21/2010
2. To My Lady Berkeley 4/21/2010
3. The Fourth Epigram 4/21/2010
4. The Third Epigram 4/21/2010
5. To My Lord Colrane 4/21/2010
6. To The Queen 4/21/2010
7. Upon The Saying That My Verses Were Made By Another 4/21/2010
8. Alexandreis 1/1/2004
9. A Pastoral Dialogue - Ii 4/21/2010
10. On A Young Lady 4/21/2010
11. Cloris Charmes 4/21/2010
12. The Second Epigram 4/21/2010
13. A Pastoral Dialogue - I 4/21/2010
14. Herodias' Daughter Presenting To Her Mother St. John's Head In A Charger, Also Painted By Her Self 4/21/2010
15. On A Picture Painted By Her Self, Representing Two Nimphs Of Diana's, One In A Posture To Hunt, The Other Batheing 4/21/2010
16. The Discontent 12/31/2002
17. An Invective Against Gold 1/1/2004
18. A Pastoral Dialogue 4/21/2010
19. St. John Baptist Painted By Her Self In The Wilderness, With Angels Appearing To Him, And With A Lamb By Him. 4/21/2010
20. On The Birth-Day Of Queen Katherine 4/21/2010
21. On My Aunt Mrs. A. K. 4/21/2010
22. On The Soft And Gentle Motions Of Eudora 4/21/2010
23. The Miseries Of Man 12/31/2002
24. On The Dutchess Of Grafton 4/21/2010
25. An Epitaph On Her Self. 4/21/2010
26. First Epigram: Upon Being Contented With A Little 12/31/2002
27. Penelope To Ulysses. 4/21/2010
28. Extemporary Counsel Given To A Young Gallant In A Frolick. 4/21/2010
29. The Complaint Of A Lover 1/1/2004
30. An Ode 4/21/2010
31. A Farewel To Worldly Joys 1/1/2004
32. Love, The Soul Of Poetry 1/1/2004
33. On Death 12/31/2002
Best Poem of Anne Killigrew

On Death

Tell me thou safest End of all our Woe,
Why wreched Mortals do avoid thee so:
Thou gentle drier o'th' afflicteds Tears,
Thou noble ender of the Cowards Fears;
Thou sweet Repose to Lovers sad dispaire,
Thou Calm t'Ambitions rough Tempestuous Care.
If in regard of Bliss thou wert a Curse,
And then the Joys of Paradise art worse;
Yet after Man from his first Station fell,
And God from Eden Adam did expel,
Thou wert no more an Evil, but Relief;
The Balm and Cure to ev'ry Humane Grief:
Through thee (what Man had forfeited before)
He now enjoys, and ne'r ...

Read the full of On Death

The Discontent

I.


1 Here take no Care, take here no Care, my Muse,
2 Nor ought of Art or Labour use:
3 But let thy Lines rude and unpolisht go,
4 Nor Equal be their Feet, nor Num'rous let them flow.
5 The ruggeder my Measures run when read,
6 They'l livelier paint th'unequal Paths fond Mortals tread.

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