Another An Electronic Edition Anne Bradstreet1612-1672 Header creation by Ralph Bauer Encoded by Ann Hanlon 4 kb bradstreet_anotherii.xmlMaryland Institute for Technology in the Humanities (MITH)
University of Maryland College Park
April 2, 2003

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 The Works of Anne Bradstreet in Prose and Verse. Edited by John Harvard Ellis. (Charlestown: A. E. Cutter, 1867)

This text was first published in 1678 in Several Poems.

This electronic text was prepared from and proofed against The Works of Anne Bradstreet in Prose and Verse. Edited by John Harvard Ellis. (Charlestown: A. E. Cutter, 1867). All preliminaries and notes have been omitted except those for which the author is responsible and those in which editorial notes indicate significant textual variations. All editorial notes have been omitted except for those which indicate significant textual variations. Line and paragraph numbers contained in the source text have been retained. In cases where the source text displays no numbers, numbers are automatically generated. In the header, personal names have been regularized according to the Library of Congress authority files as "Last Name, First Name" for the REG attribute and "First Name Last Name" for the element value. Names have not been regularized in the body of the text.

English Poetry Verse Lyrical 1650-1700 New_England Love Another. As loving Hind that (Hartless) wants her Deer, Scuds through the woods and Fern with harkning ear, Perplext, in every bush & nook doth pry, Her dearest Deer, might answer ear or eye; So doth my anxious soul, which now doth miss A dearer Dear (far dearer Heart) then this. Still wait with doubts, & hopes, and failing eye, His voice to hear, or person to descry. Or as the pensive Dove doth all alone (On withered bough) most uncouthly bemoan The absence of her Love, and loving Mate, Whose loss hath made her so unfortunate: Ev'n thus doe I, with many a deep sad groan Bewail my turtle true, who now is gone, His presence and his safe return still wooes, With thousand dolefull sighs & mournful Cooes. Or as the loving Mullet, that true Fish, Her fellow lost, nor joy nor life do wish, But launches on that shore, there for to dye, Where she her captive husband doth espy. Mine being gone, I lead a joyless life, I have a loving phere, yet seem no wife: But worst of all, to him can't steer my course, I here, he there, alas, both kept by force: Return my Dear, my joy, my only Love, Unto thy Hinde, thy Mullet, and thy Dove, Who neither joyes in pasture, house, nor streams, The substance gone, O me, these are but dreams. Together at one Tree, oh let us brouze, And like two Turtles roost within one house, And like the Mullets in one River glide, Let's still remain but one, till death divide. Thy loving Love and Dearest Dear, At home, abroad, and every where.A.B.