Ann Taylor

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

Ann Taylor Poems

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

Comments about Ann Taylor

  • US QUEEN NOBLE DEANNA GAGE SULLIVAN (5/31/2018 4:22:00 AM)

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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

A True Story

Little Ann and her mother were walking one day
Through London's wide city so fair,
And business obliged them to go by the way
That led them through Cavendish Square.
And as they pass'd by the great house of a Lord,
A beautiful chariot there came,
To take some most elegant ladies abroad,
Who straightway got into the same.

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