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Best Famous Jane Taylor Poems

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

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by Jane Taylor | |

Come and Play in the Garden

 Little sister, come away, 
And let us in the garden play,
For it is a pleasant day.
On the grass-plat let us sit, Or, if you please, we'll play a bit, And run about all over it.
But the fruit we will not pick, For that would be a naughty trick, And very likely make us sick.
Nor will we pluck the pretty flowers That grow about the beds and bowers, Because you know they are not ours.
We'll take the daisies, white and red, Because mamma has often said That we may gather then instead.
And much I hope we always may Our very dear mamma obey, And mind whatever she may say.


by Jane Taylor | |

The Orphan

 My father and mother are dead, 
Nor friend, nor relation I know; 
And now the cold earth is their bed, 
And daisies will over them grow.
I cast my eyes into the tomb, The sight made me bitterly cry; I said, "And is this the dark room, Where my father and mother must lie?" I cast my eyes round me again, In hopes some protector to see; Alas! but the search was in vain, For none had compassion on me.
I cast my eyes up to the sky, I groan'd, though I said not a word; Yet GOD was not deaf to my cry, The Friend of the fatherless heard.
For since I have trusted his care, And learn'd on his word to depend, He has kept me from every snare, And been my best Father and Friend.


by Jane Taylor | |

Sleepy Harry

 "I do not like to go to bed," 
Sleepy little Harry said; 
"Go, naughty Betty, go away, 
I will not come at all, I say! "

Oh, silly child! what is he saying? 
As if he could be always playing! 
Then, Betty, you must come and carry
This very foolish little Harry.
The little birds are better taught, They go to roosting when they ought: And all the ducks, and fowls, you know, They went to bed an hour ago.
The little beggar in the street, Who wanders with his naked feet, And has not where to lay his head, Oh, he'd be glad to go to bed.


by Jane Taylor | |

The Good-Natured Girls

 Two good little children, named Mary and Ann, 
Both happily live, as good girls always can; 
And though they are not either sullen or mute, 
They seldom or never are heard to dispute.
If one wants a thing that the other would like­ Well,­what do they do? Must they quarrel and strike? No, each is so willing to give up her own, That such disagreements are there never known.
If one of them happens to have something nice, Directly she offers her sister a slice; And never, like some greedy children, would try To eat in a corner with nobody by! When papa or mamma has a job to be done; These good little children immediately run; Nor dispute whether this or the other should go, They would be ashamed to behave themselves so! Whatever occurs, in their work or their play, They are willing to yield, and give up their own way: Then now let us try their example to mind, And always, like them, be obliging and kind.


by Jane Taylor | |

The Village Green

 On the cheerful village green, 
Skirted round with houses small,
All the boys and girls are seen,
Playing there with hoop and ball.
Now they frolic hand in hand, Making many a merry chain; Then they form a warlike band, Marching o'er the level plain.
Now ascends the worsted ball, High it rises in the air, Or against the cottage wall, Up and down it bounces there.
Then the hoop, with even pace, Runs before the merry throngs; Joy is seen in every face, Joy is heard in cheerful songs.
Rich array, and mansions proud, Gilded toys, and costly fare, Would not make the little crowd Half so happy as they are.
Then, contented with my state, Where true pleasure may be seen, Let me envy not the great, On a cheerful village green.


by Jane Taylor | |

The Violet

 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.


by Jane Taylor | |

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.