Jane Taylor Poems
|2.||The Squire’s Pew||4/8/2010|
|4.||Poetry And Reality||4/8/2010|
|6.||The World In The House||4/8/2010|
|12.||Aims At Happiness||4/8/2010|
|18.||Teaching From The Stars||4/8/2010|
|19.||The World In The Heart||4/8/2010|
|24.||The Village Green||1/3/2003|
|27.||Come And Play In The Garden||1/3/2003|
|29.||Little Girls Must Not Fret||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.
"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. "
"Indeed," said her mother, "I'll venture to say,
The poor thing will try to keep out of your way;
For after the fright, and the fall, and the pain,
It has much more occasion than you to complain.