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When I behold the heavens as in their prime, And then the earth (though old) still clad in green, The stones and trees, insensible of time, Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen

Anne Bradstreet

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Anne Bradstreet
Age: 60 †
Born: 1612
Born: March 20
Died: 1672
Died: September 16
Poet
Writer
Ann Dudley
Ann Dudley Bradstreet
Anne Dudley Bradstreet
Anne Dudley
Clad
Age
Fronts
Insensible
Heaven
Green
Wrinkles
Stills
Front
Behold
Earth
Youth
Heavens
Still
Tree
Prime
Time
Seen
Trees
Beauty
Wrinkle
Though
Stones

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It is reported of the peacock that priding himself in his gay feathers he ruffles them up but spying his black feet he soon lets fall his plumes. So he that glories in his gifts and adornings should look upon his corruptions, and that will damp his high thoughts.
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Let Greeks be Greeks, and women what they are.
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If we had not winter, the spring would not be so pleasant if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
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Satan, that great angler, hath his sundry baits for sundry tempers of men, which they all catch greedily at, but few perceive the hook till it be too late.
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I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold or all the riches that the East doth hold.
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The spring is a lively emblem of the Resurrection.
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Some laborers have hard hands, and old sinners have brawny consciences.
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Wickedness comes to its height by degrees. He that dares say of a less sin, Is it not a little one? will ere long say of a greater, Tush, God regards it not!
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But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.
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Youth is the time of getting, middle age of improving, and old age of spending a negligent youth is usually attended by an ignorant middle age, and both by an empty old age.
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I wish my Sun may never set, but burn.
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My love is such that Rivers cannot quench, Nor ought but love from thee, give recompence. Thy love is such I can no way repay, The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.
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Art can do much, but this maxim's most sure/A weak or wounded brain admits no cure.
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I happy am, if well with you.
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To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings/Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun/For my mean Pen are too superior things.
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The stones and trees, insensible to time, / Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen / If Winter come, and greenness then do fade / A Spring returns, and they more youthful made / But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.
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I am obnoxious to each carping tongue who says my hand a needle better fits.
Anne Bradstreet
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He that would be content with a mean condition must not cast his eye upon one that is in a far better estate than himself, but let him look upon him that is lower than he is, and, if he see that such a one bears poverty comfortably, it will help to quiet him.
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The world no longer lets me love, My hope and treasure are above.
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If ever wife was happy in a man, compare with me, ye women if you can.
Anne Bradstreet