THE AUTHOR TO HER BOOK
by: Anne Bradstreet (c.1612-1672)
- HOU
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 publick view,
- Made thee in raggs, halting to th' press to trudge,
- Where errors were not lessened (all may judg).
- 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, of 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 joynts to make thee even feet,
- Yet still thou run'st more hobling then 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 Criticks 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.
"The Author to Her Book"
is reprinted from Several Poems. Anne Bradstreet. Boston:
John Foster, 1678. |
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POEMS BY ANNE BRADSTREET |
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