Author: Anne Bradstreet

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Some time now past in the autumnal tide,
When Phoebus wanted but one hour to bed,
The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride,
Were gilded o'er by his rich golden head.
Their leaves and fruits seemed painted, but was true
Of green, of red, of yellow, mixed hew,
Rapt were my senses at this delectable view.

I wist not what to wish, yet sure thought I,
If so much excellence abide below,
How excellent is He that dwells on high,
Whose power and beauty by his works we know!
Sure He is goodness, wisdom, glory, light,
That hath this underworld so richly dight.
More Heaven than Earth was here, no winter and no night.

Then on a stately oak I cast mine eye,
Whose ruffling top the clouds seemed to aspire;
How long since thou wast in thine infancy?
Thy strength and stature, more thy years admire;
Hath hundred winters past since thou wast born?
Or thousand since thou breakest thy shell of horn?
If so, all these as nought Eternity doth scorn.

Then higher on the glistering Sun I gazed,
Whose beams were shaded by the leafy tree;
The more I looked, the more I grew amazed,
And softly said, What glory's like to thee?
Soul of this world, this Universe's Eye,
No wonder some made thee a Deity.
Had I not better known, alas, the same had I.

Thou as a bridegroom from thy chamber rushes,
And as a strong man joys to run a race;
The morn doth usher thee with smiles and blushes,
The Earth reflects her glances in thy face.
Birds, insects, animals with vegetive,
Thy heart from death and dullness doth revive,
And in the darksome womb of fruitful nature dive.

Thy swift annual and diurnal course,
Thy daily straight and yearly oblique path,
Thy pleasing fervor and thy scorching force,
All mortals here the feeling knowledge hath.
Thy presence makes it day, thy absence night,
Quaternal seasons caused by thy might.
Hail, creature, full of sweetness, beauty, and delight!

Art thou so full of glory, that no eye
Hath strength thy shining rays once to behold?
And is thy splendid throne erect so high
As to approach it can no earthly mould?
How full of glory then must thy Creator be,
Who gave this bright light luster unto thee?
Admir'd, ador'd forever, be that Majesty!

Silent alone where none or saw or heard,
In pathless paths I lead my wandering feet.
My humble eyes to lofty skies I rear'd
To sing some song my mazed Muse thought meet.
My great Creator I would magnify,
That nature had thus decked liberally,
But ah and ah again, my imbecility!

I heard the merry grasshopper then sing,
The black clad cricket bear a second part.
They kept one tune and played on the same string,
Seeming to glory in their little art.
Shall creatures abject thus their voices raise,
And in their kind resound their Maker's praise,
Whilst I, as mute, can warble forth no higher lays?

When present times look back to ages past,
And men in being fancy those are dead,
It makes things gone perpetually to last,
And calls back months and years that long since fled.
It makes a man more aged in conceit
Than was Methuselah, or's grandsire great,
While of their persons and their acts his mind doth treat.

Sometimes in Eden fair he seems to be,
See glorious Adam there made Lord of all,
Fancies the apple dangle on the tree
That turned his sovereign to a naked thrall,
Who like a miscreant's driven from that place
To get his bread with pain and sweat of face.
A penalty imposed on his backsliding race.

Here sits our grandame in retired place,
And in her lap her bloody Cain new born.
The weeping imp oft looks her in the face,
Bewails his unknown hap and fate forlorn.
His mother's looks breed's sorrow in his heart,
And bloodie Edward's succour makes him start,
With her he hath a right to take his part.

Lastly, my eye fixed on the blazing Sun,
At this, Oh why must I so heartless be?
Let me not see what th' others do and run,
And now in their own sense find some." He.
So speaks the now man of this world's delight,
Whose soul by nature and by custom right
Is apt to feed on those, thus to its content.

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Type of Poem: Meditative Poem

Date Written: 1678-01-01

Date Published: 1678-05-01

Language: English

Keywords: Contemplation, Nature, Creation, Eternity, Meditation

Source: The Works of Anne Bradstreet

Publisher: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: A lengthy, meditative poem where Bradstreet reflects on nature, creation, and the majesty of God, interspersed with vivid imagery and philosophical musings.