Bradstreet

To My Dear and Loving Husband

If ever two were one, then surely we.

If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;

If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me, ye women, if you can.

I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold

Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

My love is such that rivers cannot quench,

Nor ought but love from thee, give recompense.

Thy love is such I can no way repay,

The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.

Then while we live, in love let's so persevere

That when we live no more, we may live ever.

The poem reflects Anne's love for her husband, stating repetively that nothing can compare with him. She loves him unconditionally and wants him to know that she wants to spend an eternity and nothing compares with his presence. She states that she can never repay him for the love that he gives her, which also raises to thought the sentimental value of love and that nothing can ever rival the happiness it brings. In the final line she state "That when we live no more, we may live ever". By this Anne means to live on after death with her husband, likely meaning she believes in Heaven, or some other after life for her spirit.

Diary:

Love can be a powerful and enlightening thing, and the lack of love can be equally painful. Those who are in love are usually happy, and wish to spend the rest of their life, with their significant other.

Essential Question:

The American Dream entails the pursuit of happiness, which can be perceived as obtaining love when viewed in perspective. Anne Bradstreet and her husband pursue and find love-and with it happiness. This, although a much different version of the American Dream, can be considered simliar.

The Author To Her Book

Thou ill-form'd offspring of my feeble brain,

Who after birth did'st by my side remain,

Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true,

Who thee abroad exps'd to public view,

Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge,

Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).

At thy return my blusing was not small,

My rambling brat (in print) should mother call.

I cast thee by as one unfit for light,

Thy Visage was so irksome in my sight,

Yet being mine own, at length affection would

Thy blemishes amend, if so I could.

I wash'd thy face, but more defect I saw,

And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.

I stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet,

Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet.

In better dress to trim thee was my mind,

But nought save home-spun Cloth, i' the' house I find.

In this array, 'mongst Vulgars mayst thou roam.

In Critics' hands, beware thous dost not come,

And take thy way where yet thou art not known.

If for thy Father askt, say, thou hadsnt none;

And for thy Mother, she alas is poor,

Which caus'd her thus to send thee out of door.

In the poem "The Author To Her Book", Anne Bradstreet begins by mentioning "offspring of my feeble mind", denoting that she is talking about her own creative inventions. She states that this friend, who for years remained by her side, was snatched away. She later writes how she constantly tried to correct flaws, and constantly tried, but was never satisfied.

It is possible Bradstreet is comparing her literary works to an imaginary (or even tangible) friend, whom she constantly tried to better. She states that this friend has no father and that her mother sent her out the door. She is referring to the book that she changed when critics viewed it.

Diary:

My latest work, I find, still misses something. I never am satisfied with what I produce, though I believe this one is particularly missing something. I've scrapped and fixed many things, and over and over I have run through different ideas to correct it. However, I still haven't found a decent way to end my work. It pains me to think my dedication may have been in vain, but I must simply persevere until a solution comes to me.

By Night When Others Soundly Slept
By night when others soundly slept
And hath at once both ease and Rest,
My waking eyes were open kept
And so to lie I found it best.
I sought him whom my Soul did Love,
With tears I sought him earnestly.
He bow'd his ear down from Above.
In vain I did not seek or cry.
My hungry Soul he fill'd with Good;
He in his Bottle put my tears,
My smarting wounds washt in his blood,
And banisht thence my Doubts and fears.
What to my Saviour shall I give
Who freely hath done this for me?
I'll serve him here whilst I shall live
And Loue him to Eternity.

In this poem, Bradstreet talks about a time when she sought God and had him fill her soul. She talks about how he banished her doubts and fears, and asks what she can do to repay her savior.

Diary:

In a saddened, empty state, I sought God as reconciliation. When I saught Him He filled me, and struck away the negativity in my life. I will also devote myself to and serve Him.