Ann Taylor

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

Ann Taylor Poems

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