SOME VERSES UPON THE BURNING OF OUR HOUSE,
JULY 10TH, 1666
by: Anne Bradstreet (c.1612-1672)
- N silent
night when rest I took,
- For sorrow neer I did not look,
- I waken'd was with thundring nois
- And Piteous shreiks of dreadfull voice.
- That fearful sound of fire and fire,
- Let no man know is my Desire.
-
- I, starting up, the light did spye,
- And to my God my heart did cry
- To strengthen me in my Distresse,
- And not to leave me succourlesse.
- Then coming out beheld a space,
- The flame consume my dwelling place.
-
- And when I could no longer look,
- I blest his Name that gave and took,
- That layd my goods now in the dust:
- Yea so it was, and so 'twas just.
- It was his own: it was not mine;
- Far be it that I should repine.
-
- He might of All justly bereft,
- But yet sufficient for us left.
- When by the Ruines oft I past,
- My sorrowing eye aside did cast,
- And here and there the places spye
- Where oft I sate, and long did lye.
-
- Here stood that Trunk, and there that chest;
- There lay that store I counted best:
- My pleasant things in ashes lye,
- And them behold no more shall I.
- Under thy roof no guest shall sitt,
- Nor at thy Table eat a bitt.
-
- No pleasant tale shall 'ere be told,
- Nor things recounted done of old.
- No Candle 'ere shall shine in Thee,
- Nor bridegroom's voice ere heard shall bee.
- In silence ever shalt thou lye;
- Adeiu, Adeiu; All's vanity.
-
- Then streight I 'gin my heart to chide,
- And did thy wealth on earth abide?
- Didst fix thy hope on mouldring dust,
- The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
- Raise up thy thoughts above the skye
- That dunghill mists away may flie.
-
- Thou hast an house on high erect,
- Fram'd by that mighty Architect,
- With glory richly furnished,
- Stands permanent though this bee fled.
- It's purchased, and paid for too
- By him who hath enough to doe.
-
- A Prise so vast as is unknown,
- Yet, by his Gift, is made thine own.
- Ther's wealth enough, I need no more;
- Farewell my Pelf, farewell my Store.
- The world no longer let me Love,
- My hope and Treasure lyes Above.
MORE
POEMS BY ANNE BRADSTREET |
|