Anne Bradstreet – “The Author To Her Book” [Poem]

September 16, 2013


The Author To Her Book
Anne Bradstreet

This poem is found in the collection:
[easyazon-link asin=”B00A735JYW” locale=”us”]To My Husband and Other Poems[/easyazon-link]
(Only $2.99 for Kindle!!!)

[easyazon-image align=”none” asin=”B00A735JYW” locale=”us” height=”160″ src=”” width=”120″ alt=”Anne Bradstreet” ]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 expos’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 blushing 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 defects 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’ th’ house I find.
In this array, ‘mongst Vulgars mayst thou roam.
In Critics’ hands, beware thou dost not come,
And take thy way where yet thou art not known.
If for thy Father askt, say, thou hadst none;
And for thy Mother, she alas is poor,
Which caus’d her thus to send thee out of door.


Read more about the poet in the free Kindle ebook:
Anne Bradstreet and Her Time by Helen Campbell.
Also available in a variety of other ebook formats from Project Gutenberg