Jane Taylor Poems
|2.||The Poppy -new-||2/5/2016|
|3.||The Squire’s Pew||4/8/2010|
|4.||Poetry And Reality||4/8/2010|
|5.||The World In The House||4/8/2010|
|13.||Aims At Happiness||4/8/2010|
|15.||Teaching From The Stars||4/8/2010|
|18.||The World In The Heart||4/8/2010|
|25.||Come And Play In The Garden||1/3/2003|
|28.||Little Girls Must Not Fret||1/3/2003|
|30.||The Village Green||1/3/2003|
|35.||The Good-Natured Girls||1/3/2003|
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.
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.
"All the week I have long'd for this holiday so,
And fancied the minutes were hours;
And now that I'm dress'd and all ready to go,
Do look at those terrible showers! "