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Best Famous Ann Taylor Poems

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Written by Ann Taylor | Create an image from this poem

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.

Written by Ann Taylor | Create an image from this poem

The Chatterbox

 From morning till night it was Lucy's delight
To chatter and talk without stopping: 
There was not a day but she rattled away, 
Like water for ever a-dropping.
No matter at all if the subjects were small, Or not worth the trouble of saying, 'Twas equal to her, she would talking prefer To working, or reading, or playing.
You'll think now, perhaps, that there would have been gaps, If she had not been wonderfully clever: That her sense was so great, and so witty her pate, It would be forthcoming for ever; But that's quite absurd, for have you not heard That much tongue and few brains are connected? That they are supposed to think least who talk most, And their wisdom is always suspected? While Lucy was young, had she bridled her tongue, With a little good sense and exertion, Who knows, but she might now have been our delight, Instead of our jest and aversion?
Written by Ann Taylor | Create an image from this poem

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.
Written by Ann Taylor | Create an image from this poem

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.
Written by Ann Taylor | Create an image from this poem

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.

Written by Ann Taylor | Create an image from this poem

The Little Cripples Complaint

 I'm a helpless cripple child, 
Gentle Christians, pity me; 
Once, in rosy health I smiled, 
Blithe and gay as you can be, 
And upon the village green
First in every sport was seen.
Now, alas! I'm weak and low, Cannot either work or play; Tottering on my crutches, slow, Thus I drag my weary way: Now no longer dance and sing, Gaily, in the merry ring.
Many sleepless nights I live, Turning on my weary bed; Softest pillows cannot give Slumber to my aching head; Constant anguish makes it fly From my heavy, wakeful eye.
And, when morning beams return, Still no comfort beams for me: Still my limbs with fever burn, Painful still my crippled knee.
And another tedious day Passes slow and sad away.
From my chamber-window high, Lifted to my easy-chair, I the village-green can spy, Once I used to frolic there, March, or beat my new-bought drum; Happy times! no more to come.
There I see my fellows gay, Sporting on the daisied turf, And, amidst their cheerful play, Stopp'd by many a merry laugh; But the sight I scarce can bear, Leaning in my easy-chair.
Let not then the scoffing eye Laugh, my twisted leg to see: Gentle Christians, passing by, Stop awhile, and pity me, And for you I'll breathe a prayer, Leaning in my easy-chair.
Written by Ann Taylor | Create an image from this poem

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.
Written by Ann Taylor | Create an image from this poem

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.
Written by Ann Taylor | Create an image from this poem

The Star

 1 Whatever 'tis, whose beauty here below
2 Attracts thee thus and makes thee stream and flow,
3 And wind and curl, and wink and smile,
4 Shifting thy gate and guile;

5 Though thy close commerce nought at all imbars
6 My present search, for eagles eye not stars,
7 And still the lesser by the best
8 And highest good is blest;

9 Yet, seeing all things that subsist and be,
10 Have their commissions from divinity,
11 And teach us duty, I will see
12 What man may learn from thee.
13 First, I am sure, the subject so respected 14 Is well dispos'd, for bodies once infected, 15 Deprav'd, or dead, can have with thee 16 No hold, nor sympathy.
17 Next, there's in it a restless, pure desire 18 And longing for thy bright and vital fire, 19 Desire that never will be quench'd, 20 Nor can be writh'd, nor wrench'd.
21 These are the magnets which so strongly move 22 And work all night upon thy light and love, 23 As beauteous shapes, we know not why, 24 Command and guide the eye.
25 For where desire, celestial, pure desire 26 Hath taken root, and grows, and doth not tire, 27 There God a commerce states, and sheds 28 His secret on their heads.
29 This is the heart he craves, and who so will 30 But give it him, and grudge not, he shall feel 31 That God is true, as herbs unseen 32 Put on their youth and green.
Written by Ann Taylor | Create an image from this poem

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.