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But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.

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
Laid
Aging
Remains
Lies
Grows
Lying
Death
Men

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Sweet words are like honey, a little may refresh, but too much gluts the stomach.
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And time brings down what is both strong and tall. But plants new set to be eradicate, And buds new blown, to have so short a date, Is by his hand alone that guides nature and fate.
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Youth is the time of getting, middle age of improving, and old age of spending.
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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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I happy am, if well with you.
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Sin and shame ever go together he that would be freed from the last must be sure to shun the company of the first.
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The spring is a lively emblem of the Resurrection.
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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
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My hope and treasure lies above
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Wisdom with an inheritance is good, but wisdom without an inheritance is better than an inheritance without wisdom.
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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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If ever wife was happy in a man, compare with me, ye women if you can.
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Some laborers have hard hands, and old sinners have brawny consciences.
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What to my Saviour shall I giveWho freely hath done this for me?I'll serve him here whilst I shall liveAnd Loue him to Eternity
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I am obnoxious to each carping tongue/ Who says my hand a needle better fits./ A poet's pen all scorn I should thus wrong/ For such despite they cast on female wits/ If what I do prove well, it won't advance,/ They'll say it's stolen, or else, it was by chance.
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If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant.
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The world no longer lets me love, My hope and treasure are above.
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Iron till it be thoroughly heated is incapable to be wrought so God sees good to cast some men into the furnace of affliction, and then beats them on His anvil into what frame He desires.
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If what I do prove well, it won't advance. They'll say it's stolen, or else it was by chance.
Anne Bradstreet