Home ⇒ 📌Anne Bradstreet ⇒ The Author to her Book
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 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.
(2 votes, average: 2.50 out of 5)Related poetry:
- TO HIS MUSE Whither, mad maiden, wilt thou roam? Far safer ’twere to stay at home; Where thou mayst sit, and piping, please The poor and private cottages. Since cotes and hamlets best agree With this thy meaner minstrelsy. There with the reed thou mayst express The shepherd’s fleecy happiness; And with thy Eclogues intermix: Some smooth and […]...
- A Hymn To Christ At The Author's Last Going Into Germany In what torn ship soever I embark, That ship shall be my emblem of thy Ark; What sea soever swallow me, that flood Shall be to me an emblem of thy blood; Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise Thy face, yet through that mask I know those eyes, Which, though they turn away […]...
- Oh, It Is Good Oh, it is good to drink and sup, And then beside the kindly fire To smoke and heap the faggots up, And rest and dream to heart’s desire. Oh, it is good to ride and run, To roam the greenwood wild and free; To hunt, to idle in the sun, To leap into the laughing […]...
- 395. Sonnet on the Author's Birthday SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough, Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain, See aged Winter, ‘mid his surly reign, At thy blythe carol, clears his furrowed brow. So in lone Poverty’s dominion drear, Sits meek Content with light, unanxious heart; Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, Nor asks if […]...
- Sonnet 77: Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste; These vacant leaves thy mind’s imprint will bear, And of this book, this learning mayst thou taste. The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show Of mouthèd graves will give thee memory, Thou by thy dial’s shady stealth mayst […]...
- Sonnet LXXVII Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste; The vacant leaves thy mind’s imprint will bear, And of this book this learning mayst thou taste. The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show Of mouthed graves will give thee memory; Thou by thy dial’s shady stealth mayst […]...
- To The Memory Of My Beloved, The Author, Mr William Shakespeare, And What He Hath Left Us To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; While I confess thy writings to be such As neither Man nor Muse can praise too much. ‘Tis true, and all men’s suffrage. But these ways Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; For silliest ignorance […]...
- Sonnet XLVIII How careful was I, when I took my way, Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, That to my use it might unused stay From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, Most worthy of comfort, now my greatest grief, Thou, best of dearest and mine […]...
- Sonnet 48: How careful was I, when I took my way How careful was I, when I took my way, Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, That to my use it might unusèd stay From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, Thou best of dearest, and mine only […]...
- TO AN OLD DANISH SONG-BOOK Welcome, my old friend, Welcome to a foreign fireside, While the sullen gales of autumn Shake the windows. The ungrateful world Has, it seems, dealt harshly with thee, Since, beneath the skies of Denmark, First I met thee. There are marks of age, There are thumb-marks on thy margin, Made by hands that clasped thee […]...
- Light Hearted Author The birches are mad with green points The wood’s edge is burning with their green, Burning, seething-No, no, no. The birches are opening their leaves one By one. Their delicate leaves unfold cold And separate, one by one. Slender tassels Hang swaying from the delicate branch tips – Oh, I cannot say it. There is […]...
- Upon the Book and Picture of the Seraphical Saint Teresa O THOU undaunted daughter of desires! By all thy dower of lights and fires; By all the eagle in thee, all the dove; By all thy lives and deaths of love; By thy large draughts of intellectual day, And by thy thirsts of love more large than they; By all thy brim-fill’d bowls of fierce […]...
- PROXIMITY OF THE BELOVED ONE I THINK of thee, whene’er the sun his beams O’er ocean flings; I think of thee, whene’er the moonlight gleams In silv’ry springs. I see thee, when upon the distant ridge The dust awakes; At midnight’s hour, when on the fragile bridge The wanderer quakes. I hear thee, when yon billows rise on high, With […]...
- Sonnet I: Love Song Shalt Cupid be blamed thou doth dominate Dwelling in days and nights with dignity? With this self as my only best comrade, I treasure thy fancy as whate’er means beauty. Mine own mind, too, art a stubborn seeker And since wherein thoughts can roam Thou, thee, thine art barely than farther, Thus in them thou […]...
- III. THE PARIAH'S THANKS MIGHTY Brama, now I’ll bless thee! ‘Tis from thee that worlds proceed! As my ruler I confess thee, For of all thou takest heed. All thy thousand ears thou keepest Open to each child of earth; We, ‘mongst mortals sunk the deepest, Have from thee received new birth. Bear in mind the woman’s story, Who, […]...
- East London ‘Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green, And the pale weaver, through his windows seen In Spitalfields, looked thrice dispirited. I met a preacher there I knew, and said: “Ill and o’erworked, how fare you in this scene?”- “Bravely!” said he; “for I of late have been […]...
- Sonnet 40: Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all; What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. Then if for my love, thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee, for my love thou […]...
- Sonnet 143: Lo, as a careful huswife runs to catch Lo, as a careful huswife runs to catch One of her feathered creatures broke away, Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch In pursuit of the thing she would have stay, Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent To follow that which flies […]...
- Sonnet CXLIII Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch One of her feather’d creatures broke away, Sets down her babe and makes an swift dispatch In pursuit of the thing she would have stay, Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent To follow that which flies […]...
- A Book Full of Pictures Father studied theology through the mail And this was exam time. Mother knitted. I sat quietly with a book Full of pictures. Night fell. My hands grew cold touching the faces Of dead kings and queens. There was a black raincoat in the upstairs bedroom Swaying from the ceiling, But what was it doing there? […]...
- The Book of Thel THEL’S MOTTO 1 Does the Eagle know what is in the pit? 2 Or wilt thou go ask the Mole? 3 Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod? 4 Or Love in a golden bowl? I 1.1 The daughters of the Seraphim led round their sunny flocks, 1.2 All but the youngest: she in […]...
- The Author Of The Jesus Papers Speaks In my dream I milked a cow, The terrible udder Like a great rubber lily Sweated in my fingers And as I yanked, Waiting for the moon juice, Waiting for the white mother, Blood spurted from it And covered me with shame. Then God spoke to me and said: People say only good things about […]...
- The Task: Book II, The Time-Piece (excerpts) England, with all thy faults, I love thee still My country! and, while yet a nook is left Where English minds and manners may be found, Shall be constrain’d to love thee. Though thy clime Be fickle, and thy year most part deform’d With dripping rains, or wither’d by a frost, I would not yet […]...
- To The Author Of Glare There comes a time when the story turns into twenty Different stories and soon after that he academy of shadows Retreats to the cave of a solitary boy in a thriving Metropolis where no one remembers the original story Whic is, of course, a sign of its great success: to be forgotten Implies you were […]...
- A Baby In The House I knew that a baby was hid in that house, Though I saw no cradle and heard no cry; But the husband was tip-toeing ’round like a mouse, And the good wife was humming a soft lullaby; And there was a look on the face of the mother, That I knew could mean only one […]...
- The Faerie Queene, Book I, Canto IV (excerpts) CANTO IIII To sinfull house of Pride, Duessa Guides the faithfull knight, Where brothers death to wreak Sansjoy Doth chalenge him to fight. I Young knight, what ever that dost armes professe, And through long labours huntest after fame, Beware of fraud, beware of ficklenesse, In choice, and change of thy deare loved Dame, Least […]...
- TO THE GRASSHOPPER AFTER ANACREON. [The strong resemblance of this fine poem to Cowley’s Ode bearing the same name, and beginning “Happy insect! What can be,” will be at once seen.] HAPPY art thou, darling insect, Who, upon the trees’ tall branches, By a modest draught inspired, Singing, like a monarch livest! Thou possessest as thy portion All […]...
- TO HIS BOOK Make haste away, and let one be A friendly patron unto thee; Lest, rapt from hence, I see thee lie Torn for the use of pastery; Or see thy injured leaves serve well To make loose gowns for mackarel; Or see the grocers, in a trice, Make hoods of thee to serve out spice....
- A Home Song I read within a poet’s book A word that starred the page: “Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage!” Yes, that is true; and something more You’ll find, where’er you roam, That marble floors and gilded walls Can never make a home. But every house where Love abides, And Friendship […]...
- I Go Back To The House For A Book I turn around on the gravel And go back to the house for a book, Something to read at the doctor’s office, And while I am inside, running the finger Of inquisition along a shelf, Another me that did not bother To go back to the house for a book Heads out on his own, […]...
- Sonnet 142: Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving, O, but with mine, compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving, Or if it do, not from those lips of thine That have profaned their scarlet ornaments And sealed false bonds of […]...
- To a Child of Quality, Five Years Old, 1704. The Author then Forty LORDS, knights, and squires, the numerous band That wear the fair Miss Mary’s fetters, Were summoned by her high command To show their passions by their letters. My pen amongst the rest I took, Lest those bright eyes, that cannot read, Should dart their kindling fire, and look The power they have to be obey’d. […]...
- A DIALOGUE BETWIXT HIMSELF AND MISTRESS ELIZAWHEELER, UNDER THE NAME OF AMARILLIS My dearest Love, since thou wilt go, And leave me here behind thee; For love or pity, let me know The place where I may find thee. AMARIL. In country meadows, pearl’d with dew, And set about with lilies; There, filling maunds with cowslips, you May find your Amarillis. HER. What have the meads to […]...
- Clouds and Waves Mother, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me- “We play from the time we wake till the day ends. We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon.” I ask, “But how am I to get up to you?” They answer, “Come to the edge of the […]...
- Sonnet CXLII Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: O, but with mine compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving; Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, That have profaned their scarlet ornaments And seal’d false bonds of […]...
- The Genius Of The Crowd there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average Human being to supply any given army on any given day And the best at murder are those who preach against it And the best at hate are those who preach love And the best at war finally are those who preach peace Those who […]...
- 88. The Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer YE Irish lords, ye knights an’ squires, Wha represent our brughs an’ shires, An’ doucely manage our affairs In parliament, To you a simple poet’s pray’rs Are humbly sent. Alas! my roupit Muse is hearse! Your Honours’ hearts wi’ grief ‘twad pierce, To see her sittin on her arse Low i’ the dust, And scriechinh […]...
- PROXIMITY I KNOW not, wherefore, dearest love, Thou often art so strange and coy When ‘mongst man’s busy haunts we move, Thy coldness puts to flight my joy. But soon as night and silence round us reign, I know thee by thy kisses sweet again! 1789.*...
- The Task: Book IV, The Winter Evening (excerpts) Hark! ’tis the twanging horn! O’er yonder bridge, That with its wearisome but needful length Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright, He comes, the herald of a noisy world, With spatter’d boots, strapp’d waist, and frozen locks; News from all nations lumb’ring at his back. True to […]...
- Self-Acquaintance Dear Lord! accept a sinful heart, Which of itself complains, And mourns, with much and frequent smart, The evil it contains. There fiery seeds of anger lurk, Which often hurt my frame; And wait but for the tempter’s work, To fan them to a flame. Legality holds out a bribe To purchase life from Thee; […]...