Jane Taylor, was an English poet and novelist. She wrote the words for the song Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star in 1806 at age 23, while living in Shilling Street, Lavenham, Suffolk.
The poem is now known worldwide, but its authorship is generally forgotten. It was first published under the title "The Star" in Rhymes for the Nursery, a collection of poems by Taylor and her older... more »
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Jane Taylor Poems
Down in a green and shady bed, A modest violet grew; Its stalk was bent, it hung its head As if to hide from view.
Let those who're fond of idle tricks, Of throwing stones, and hurling bricks, And all that sort of fun, Now hear a tale of idle Jim,
The Good-Natured Girls
Two good little children, named Mary and Ann, Both happily live, as good girls always can; And though they are not either sullen or mute, They seldom or never are heard to dispute.
In tears to her mother poor Harriet came, Let us listen to hear what she says: "O see, dear mamma, it is pouring with rain, We cannot go out in the chaise.
Old John had an apple-tree, healthy and green, Which bore the best codlins that ever were seen, So juicy, so mellow, and red; And when they were ripe, he disposed of his store,
Little Girls Must Not Fret
What is it that makes little Emily cry? Come then, let mamma wipe the tear from her eye: There -- lay down your head on my bosom -- that's right, And now tell mamma what's the matter to-night.
My father and mother are dead, Nor friend, nor relation I know; And now the cold earth is their bed, And daisies will over them grow.
"Oh, look at that great ugly spider!" said Ann; And screaming, she brush'd it away with her fan; "'Tis a frightful black creature as ever can be, I wish that it would not come crawling on me. "
"Ah! don't you remember, 'tis almost December, And soon will the holidays come; Oh, 'twill be so funny, I've plenty of money, I'll buy me a sword and a drum. "
"I do not like to go to bed," Sleepy little Harry said; "Go, naughty Betty, go away, I will not come at all, I say! "
Come and Play in the Garden
Little sister, come away, And let us in the garden play, For it is a pleasant day.
The Village Green
On the cheerful village green, Skirted round with houses small, All the boys and girls are seen, Playing there with hoop and ball.
I saw an old cottage of clay, And only of mud was the floor; It was all falling into decay, And the snow drifted in at the door.
In an elegant frock, trimm'd with beautiful lace, And hair nicely curl'd, hanging over her face, Young Fanny went out to the house of a friend, With a large little party the evening to spend.
(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)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Down in a green and shady bed,
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head
As if to hide from view.
And yet it was a lovely flower,
Its colour bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.
Yet thus it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused a sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.
Then let me to the valley go
This pretty flower to see;
That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.