Treasure Island

Ann Taylor

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

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.

What! Emmy is sleepy, and tired with play?
Come, Betty, make haste then, and fetch her away;
But do not be fretful, my darling; you know
Mamma cannot love little girls that are so.

She shall soon go to bed and forget it all there–
Ah! here's her sweet smile come again, I declare:
That's right, for I thought you quite naughty before.
Good night, my dear child, but don't fret any more.

Submitted: Thursday, April 01, 2010
Edited: Thursday, March 01, 2012

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Little Girls Must Not Fret by Ann Taylor )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. The Caged Bird, Zillur Rahman Shuvro
  2. Rainbows, Phil Soar
  3. A Brief History of History, Zillur Rahman Shuvro
  4. equal, Matthew Edan Oliver Palma
  5. AHMAD RAMI, MOHAMMAD SKATI
  6. The Underlord., Maurice Whyte
  7. I am Yours, Matthew Edan Oliver Palma
  8. unanswered, Matthew Edan Oliver Palma
  9. passwords, Matthew Edan Oliver Palma
  10. lullabies, Matthew Edan Oliver Palma

Poem of the Day

poet William Wordsworth

I

I AM not One who much or oft delight
To season my fireside with personal talk.--
Of friends, who live within an easy walk,
Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight:
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]