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About this Poem 

The first published poet in America, Anne Bradstreet, was a Puritan mother of eight children. Her poem "The Author to Her Book" was written in response to an edition of her collection The Tenth Muse, which was published without her consent or knowledge

The Author to Her Book

Anne Bradstreet, 1612 - 1672
Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth didst by my side remain,
Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true,
Who thee abroad, exposed 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,
The visage was so irksome in my sight;
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could.
I washed thy face, but more defects I saw,
And rubbing off a spot still made a flaw.
I stretched 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 homespun cloth i' th' house I find.
In this array 'mongst vulgars may'st thou roam.
In critic's hands beware thou dost not come,
And take thy way where yet thou art not known;
If for thy father asked, say thou hadst none;
And for thy mother, she alas is poor,
Which caused her thus to send thee out of door.

This poem is in the public domain.

Anne Bradstreet

Anne Bradstreet was born Anne Dudley in 1612 in Northamptonshire, England. She

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But with death's parting blow are sure to meet.
The sentence past is most irrevocable,
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How soon, my Dear,
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In silent night when rest I took,
For sorrow near I did not look,
I waken'd was with thund'ring noise
And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.
That fearful sound of "fire" and "fire,"
Let no man know is my Desire.
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And to my God my heart did cry
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