Ann Taylor

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

Ann Taylor Poems

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

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