Category Archives: Ann Taylor

Poem – 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 … Continue reading

Rate this:

Posted in Ann Taylor | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

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 … Continue reading

Rate this:

Posted in Ann Taylor | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Poem – 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 … Continue reading

Rate this:

Posted in Ann Taylor | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Poem – 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 … Continue reading

Rate this:

Posted in Ann Taylor | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Poem – Mischief

LET those who’re fond of idle tricks, Of throwing stones, and hurling bricks, And all that sort of fun, Now hear a tale of idle Jim,  That warning they may take by him,  Nor do as he has done. In … Continue reading

Rate this:

Posted in Ann Taylor | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Poem – The Vulgar Little Lady

“But, mamma, now, ” said Charlotte, “pray, don’t you believe That I’m better than Jenny, my nurse? Only see my red shoes, and the lace on my sleeve; Her clothes are a thousand times worse. “I ride in my coach, … Continue reading

Rate this:

Posted in Ann Taylor | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Poem – The Gaudy Flower

WHY does my Anna toss her head, And look so scornfully around, As if she scarcely deign’d to tread Upon the daisy-dappled ground? Does fancied beauty fire thine eye, The brilliant tint, the satin skin? Does the loved glass, in … Continue reading

Rate this:

Posted in Ann Taylor | Tagged , , | Leave a comment