Ann Taylor was an English poet and literary critic. In her youth she was a writer of verse for children, for which she achieved long-lasting popularity. In the years immediately preceding her marriage, she became an astringent literary critic of growing reputation. She is, however, best remembered as the elder sister and collaborator of Jane Taylor.
The literary family
The Taylor sisters were part of an extensive literary family, daughters of Isaac Taylor of Ongar. Ann was born in Islington and lived with her family at first in London and later in Lavenham in Suffolk, in Colchester and, briefly, in Ongar. The sisters' brother, Isaac Taylor, was, like his father, an ... more »
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Ann Taylor Poems
Who sat and watched my infant head When sleeping on my cradle bed, And tears of sweet affection shed? My Mother.
The Baby's Dance
Dance little baby, dance up high, Never mind baby, mother is by; Crow and caper, caper and crow, There little baby, there you go;
For a Naughty Little Girl
My sweet little girl should be cheerful and mild She must not be fretful and cry! Oh! why is this passion? remember, my child, GOD sees you, who lives in the sky.
A True Story
Little Ann and her mother were walking one day Through London's wide city so fair, And business obliged them to go by the way That led them through Cavendish Square.
One ugly trick has often spoil'd The sweetest and the best; Matilda, though a pleasant child, One ugly trick possess'd,
Learning to Go Alone
Come, my darling, come away, Take a pretty walk to-day; Run along, and never fear, I'll take care of baby dear:
Jane and Eliza
There were two little girls, neither handsome nor plain; One's name was Eliza, the other's was Jane: They were both of one height, as I've heard people say, They were both of one age, I believe, to a day.
About the Little Girl that Beat Her Sist...
Go, go, my naughty girl, and kiss Your little sister dear; I must not have such things as this, And noisy quarrels here.
Thank you, pretty cow, that made Pleasant milk to soak my bread, Every day and every night, Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.
Poor Martha is old, and her hair is turn'd grey, And her hearing has left her for many a year; Ten to one if she knows what it is that you say, Though she puts her poor wither'd hand close to her ear.
The Field Daisy
I'm a pretty little thing, Always coming with the spring; In the meadows green I'm found, Peeping just above the ground,
From morning till night it was Lucy's delight To chatter and talk without stopping: There was not a day but she rattled away, Like water for ever a-dropping.
THERE was one little Jim, 'Tis reported of him, And must be to his lasting disgrace, That he never was seen
AH, Mary! what, do you for dolly not care? And why is she left on the floor? Forsaken, and cover'd with dust, I declare;
Comments about Ann Taylor
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Who sat and watched my infant head
When sleeping on my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?
When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept for fear that I should die?
Who taught my infant lips to pray
And love God’s holy book and day,
And walk in wisdom’s pleasant way?
And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who wast so very kind to me,
Ah, no! the thought I cannot bear,
And if God please my life to spare
I hope I shall ...