Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Best Famous Ann Taylor Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Ann Taylor poems. This is a select list of the best famous Ann Taylor poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Ann Taylor poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Ann Taylor poems.

Search for the best famous Ann Taylor poems, articles about Ann Taylor poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Ann Taylor poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See also: Best Member Poems

Go Back

by Ann Taylor |

The Babys Dance

 Dance little baby, dance up high,
Never mind baby, mother is by;
Crow and caper, caper and crow,
There little baby, there you go;
Up to the ceiling, down to the ground,
Backwards and forwards, round and round;
Dance little baby, and mother shall sing,
With the merry coral, ding, ding, ding.


by Ann Taylor |

Meddlesome Matty

 One ugly trick has often spoil'd
The sweetest and the best; 
Matilda, though a pleasant child, 
One ugly trick possess'd, 
Which, like a cloud before the skies, 
Hid all her better qualities. 

Sometimes she'd lift the tea-pot lid, 
To peep at what was in it, 
Or tilt the kettle, if you did 
But turn your back a minute. 
In vain you told her not to touch,
Her trick of meddling grew so much. 

Her grandmamma went out one day,
And by mistake she laid
Her spectacles and snuff-box gay
Too near the little maid; 
"Ah! well," thought she, "I'll try them on, 
As soon as grandmamma is gone. " 

Forthwith she placed upon her nose
The glasses large and wide; 
And looking round, as I suppose, 
The snuff-box too she spied: 
"Oh! what a pretty box is that; 
I'll open it," said little Matt. 

"I know that grandmamma would say,
'Don't meddle with it, dear;'
But then, she's far enough away, 
And no one else is near: 
Besides, what can there be amiss
In opening such a box as this? " 

So thumb and finger went to work 
To move the stubborn lid,
And presently a mighty jerk
The mighty mischief did; 
For all at once, ah! woful case, 
The snuff came puffing in her face. 

Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth, beside
A dismal sight presented; 
In vain, as bitterly she cried, 
Her folly she repented. 
In vain she ran about for ease; 
She could do nothing now but sneeze. 

She dash'd the spectacles away, 
To wipe her tingling eyes, 
And as in twenty bits they lay, 
Her grandmamma she spies. 
"Heyday! and what's the matter now?"
Says grandmamma, with lifted brow. 

Matilda, smarting with the pain, 
And tingling still, and sore,
Made many a promise to refrain
From meddling evermore. 
And 'tis a fact, as I have heard, 
She ever since has kept her word.


by Ann Taylor |

Learning to Go Alone

 Come, my darling, come away,
Take a pretty walk to-day; 
Run along, and never fear,
I'll take care of baby dear: 
Up and down with little feet,
That's the way to walk, my sweet. 

Now it is so very near,
Soon she'll get to mother dear. 
There she comes along at last: 
Here's my finger, hold it fast: 
Now one pretty little kiss,
After such a walk as this.


by Ann Taylor |

Jane and Eliza

 There were two little girls, neither handsome nor plain; 
One's name was Eliza, the other's was Jane: 
They were both of one height, as I've heard people say, 
They were both of one age, I believe, to a day. 

'Twas fancied by some, who but slightly had seen them, 
That scarcely a difference was there between them; 
But no one for long in this notion persisted,
So great a distinction there really existed. 

Eliza knew well that she could not be pleasing,
While fretting and fuming, while sulky or teasing;
And therefore in company artfully tried­
Not to break her bad habits, but only to hide. 

So when she was out, with much labour and pain, 
She contrived to look almost a pleasant as Jane; 
But then you might see, that in forcing a smile,
Her mouth was uneasy, and ached all the while. 

And in spite of her care, it would sometimes befall,
That some cross event happen'd to ruin it all; 
And because it might chance that her share was the worst,
Her temper broke loose, and her dimples dispersed. 

But Jane, who had nothing she wanted to hide,
And therefore these troublesome arts never tried, 
Had none of the care and fatigue of concealing,
But her face always show'd what her bosom was feeling. 

At home or abroad there was peace in her smile,
A cheerful good nature that needed no guile. 
And Eliza work'd hard, but could never obtain
The affection that freely was given to Jane.


by Ann Taylor |

For a Naughty Little Girl

 My sweet little girl should be cheerful and mild
She must not be fretful and cry! 
Oh! why is this passion? remember, my child, 
GOD sees you, who lives in the sky. 

That dear little face, that I like so to kiss, 
How alter'd and sad it appears!
Do you think I can love you so naughty as this, 
Or kiss you, all wetted with tears? 

Remember, though GOD is in Heaven, my love, 
He sees you within and without, 
And always looks down, from His glory above, 
To notice what you are about. 

If I am not with you, or if it be dark, 
And nobody is in the way, 
His eye is as able your doings to mark, 
In the night as it is in the day. 

Then dry up your tears and look smiling again, 
And never do things that are wrong; 
For I'm sure you must feel it a terrible pain, 
To be naughty and crying so long. 

We'll pray, then, that GOD may your passion forgive, 
And teach you from evil to fly; 
And then you'll be happy as long as you live, 
And happy whenever you die.


by Ann Taylor |

About the Little Girl that Beat Her Sister

 Go, go, my naughty girl, and kiss
Your little sister dear; 
I must not have such things as this,
And noisy quarrels here. 

What! little children scratch and fight,
That ought to be so mild;
Oh! Mary, it's a shocking sight
To see an angry child. 

I can't imagine, for my part, 
The reason for your folly; 
She did not do you any hurt
By playing with your dolly. 

See, see, the little tears that run
Fast from her watery eye: 
Come, my sweet innocent, have done,
'Twill do no good to cry. 

Go, Mary, wipe her tears away,
And make it up with kisses: 
And never turn a pretty play
To such a pet as this is.


by Ann Taylor |

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. 

The ladies in feathers and jewels were seen,
The chariot was painted all o'er, 
The footmen behind were in silver and green,
The horses were prancing before. 

Little Ann by her mother walk'd silent and sad,
A tear trickled down from her eye, 
Till her mother said, "Ann, I should be very glad
To know what it is makes you cry. " 

"Mamma," said the child, "see that carriage so fair, 
All cover'd with varnish and gold, 
Those ladies are riding so charmingly there
While we have to walk in the cold. 

"You say GOD is kind to the folks that are good,
But surely it cannot be true; 
Or else I am certain, almost, that He would
Give such a fine carriage to you. " 

"Look there, little girl," said her mother, "and see
What stands at that very coach door;
A poor ragged beggar, and listen how she
A halfpenny tries to implore. 

"All pale is her face, and deep sunk is her eye,
And her hands look like skeleton's bones;
She has got a few rags, just about her to tie,
And her naked feet bleed on the stones. " 

'Dear ladies,' she cries, and the tears trickle down, 
'Relieve a poor beggar, I pray;
I've wander'd all hungry about this wide town,
And not ate a morsel to-day. 

'My father and mother are long ago dead,
My brother sails over the sea, 
And I've scarcely a rag, or a morsel of bread,
As plainly, I'm sure, you may see. 

'A fever I caught, which was terrible bad, 
But no nurse or physic had I; 
An old dirty shed was the house that I had,
And only on straw could I lie. 

'And now that I'm better, yet feeble and faint, 
And famish'd, and naked, and cold,
I wander about with my grievous complaint, 
And seldom get aught but a scold. 

'Some will not attend to my pitiful call,
Some think me a vagabond cheat;
And scarcely a creature relieves me, of all
The thousands that traverse the street. 

'Then ladies, dear ladies, your pity bestow:'­
Just then a tall footman came round,
And asking the ladies which way they would go,
The chariot turn'd off with a bound. 

"Ah! see, little girl," then her mother replied,
"How foolish those murmurs have been;
You have but to look on the contrary side,
To learn both your folly and sin. 

"This poor little beggar is hungry and cold,
No mother awaits her return;
And while such an object as this you behold,
Your heart should with gratitude burn. 

"Your house and its comforts, your food and your friends,
'Tis favour in GOD to confer, 
Have you any claim to the bounty He sends, 
Who makes you to differ from her? 

"A coach, and a footman, and gaudy attire,
Give little true joy to the breast; 
To be good is the thing you should chiefly desire,
And then leave to GOD all the rest. "


by Ann Taylor |

The Field Daisy

 I'm a pretty little thing,
Always coming with the spring; 
In the meadows green I'm found,
Peeping just above the ground,
And my stalk is cover'd flat
With a white and yellow hat. 

Little Mary, when you pass
Lightly o'er the tender grass,
Skip about, but do not tread
On my bright but lowly head, 
For I always seem to say, 
"Surely winter's gone away."


by Ann Taylor |

The Cut

 Well, what's the matter? there's a face
What ! has it cut a vein?
And is it quite a shocking place?
Come, let us look again.

I see it bleeds, but never mind
That tiny little drop;
I don't believe you'll ever find
That crying makes it stop.

'Tis sad indeed to cry at pain,
For any but a baby;
If that should chance to cut a vein,
We should not wonder, may be.

But such a man as you should try
To bear a little sorrow:
So run along, and wipe your eye,
'Twill all be well to-morrow.


by Ann Taylor |

Deaf Martha

 Poor Martha is old, and her hair is turn'd grey, 
And her hearing has left her for many a year; 
Ten to one if she knows what it is that you say, 
Though she puts her poor wither'd hand close to her ear. 

I've seen naughty children run after her fast, 
And cry, "Martha, run, there's a bullock so bold;" 
And when she was frighten'd, ­laugh at her at last, 
Because she believed the sad stories they told. 

I've seen others put their mouths close to her ear, 
And make signs as if they had something to say; 
And when she said, "Master, I'm deaf and can't hear," 
Point at her and mock her, and scamper away. 

Ah! wicked the children poor Martha to tease, 
As if she had not enough else to endure; 
They rather should try her affliction to ease, 
And soothe a disorder that nothing can cure. 

One day, when those children themselves are grown old, 
And one may be deaf, and another be lame, 
Perhaps they may find that some children, as bold, 
May tease them, and mock them, and serve them the same. 

Then, when they reflect on the days of their youth, 
A faithful account will their consciences keep, 
And teach them, with shame and with sorrow, the truth, 
That "what a man soweth, the same shall he reap."