From Contemplations

When I behold the heavens 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;

If winter come, and greenness than doth fade,

A spring returns, and they're more youthful made.

But man grows old, lies down, remains,

where once he laid.

Springtime in the New England countryside

By birth more noble than those creatures all,

Yet seems by nature and by custom cursed-

No sooner born but grief and care make fall

That state obliterate he had at first;

Not youth, nor strength, nor wisdom spring again,

Nor habitations long their name retain,

But in oblivion to the final day remain.

Shall I then praise the heavens, the trees, the earth,

Because their beauty and their strength last longer?

Shall I wish there or never to had birth,

Because they're bigger and their bodies stronger?

Nay, they shall darken, perish, fade, and die,

And when unmade so ever shall they lie;

But man was made for endless immortality.

"From Contemplations"

Anne Dudley Bradstreet

(March 20, 1612-September 16, 1672)

English-born American Puritan poetess