Ann Taylor

(30 January 1782 - 20 December 1866 / Colchester, England)

Ann Taylor Poems

1. Washing And Dressing 4/1/2010
2. The Little Negro 4/1/2010
3. The Spider 4/1/2010
4. The Village Green 4/1/2010
5. The Child’s Monitor 4/1/2010
6. The Violet 4/1/2010
7. The Gaudy Flower 4/1/2010
8. The Good-Natured Girls 4/1/2010
9. The Holidays 4/1/2010
10. The Orphan 4/1/2010
11. The Wooden Doll And The Wax Doll 4/1/2010
12. The Disappointment 4/1/2010
13. The Little Cripple's Complaint 1/3/2003
14. Finery 4/1/2010
15. Little Girls Must Not Fret 4/1/2010
16. Come And Play In The Garden 4/1/2010
17. The Butterfly 4/1/2010
18. The Washing And Dressing 1/3/2003
19. Frances Keeps Her Promise 4/1/2010
20. George And The Chimney-Sweep 4/1/2010
21. Greedy Richard 4/1/2010
22. The Pin 1/3/2003
23. James And The Shoulder Of Mutton 4/1/2010
24. The Boys And The Apple-Tree 4/1/2010
25. The Cut 1/3/2003
26. The Apple-Tree 4/1/2010
27. Mischief 4/1/2010
28. Careless Mathilda 4/1/2010
29. Sleepy Harry 4/1/2010
30. Sophia’s Fool’s-Cap 4/1/2010
31. The Vulgar Little Lady 1/3/2003
32. The Field Daisy 1/3/2003
33. The Chatterbox 1/3/2003
34. Dirty Jim 4/1/2010
35. Negligent Mary 4/1/2010
36. To A Little Girl That Has Told A Lie 1/3/2003
37. Deaf Martha 1/3/2003
38. The Cow 1/3/2003
39. About The Little Girl That Beat Her Sister 1/3/2003
40. Jane And Eliza 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Ann Taylor

My Mother

Who sat and watched my infant head
When sleeping on my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?
My Mother.


When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept for fear that I should die?
My Mother.

Who taught my infant lips to pray
And love God’s holy book and day,
And walk in wisdom’s pleasant way?
My Mother.

And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who wast so very kind to me,
My Mother?

Ah, no! the thought I cannot bear,
And if God please my life to spare
I hope I shall ...

Read the full of My Mother

The Cow

Thank you, pretty cow, that made
Pleasant milk to soak my bread,
Every day and every night,
Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.

Do not chew the hemlock rank,
Growing on the weedy bank;
But the yellow cowslips eat;
They perhaps will make it sweet.

[Hata Bildir]