All Poems

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The Little Cripple's Complaint

© Ann Taylor

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.

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The Field Daisy

© Ann Taylor

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.

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The Cut

© Ann Taylor

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.

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The Cow

© Ann Taylor

Thank you, pretty cow, that made
Pleasant milk to soak my bread,
Every day and every night,
Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.

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The Chatterbox

© Ann Taylor

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.

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The Baby's Dance

© Ann Taylor

Dance little baby, dance up high,
Never mind baby, mother is by;
Crow and caper, caper and crow,
There little baby, there you go;

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Meddlesome Matty

© Ann Taylor

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.

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Learning to Go Alone

© Ann Taylor

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.

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Jane and Eliza

© Ann Taylor

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.

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For a Naughty Little Girl

© Ann Taylor

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.

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Deaf Martha

© Ann Taylor

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.

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About the Little Girl that Beat Her Sister

© Ann Taylor

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

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A True Story

© Ann Taylor

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.

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What Being in Rank-Old Nature

© Gerard Manley Hopkins

What being in rank-old nature should earlier have that breath been
That h?re p?rsonal tells off these heart-song powerful peals?—
A bush-browed, beetle-br?wed b?llow is it?
With a so?th-w?sterly w?nd bl?stering, with a tide rolls reels

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The Furl of Fresh-Leaved Dogrose Down

© Gerard Manley Hopkins

The furl of fresh-leaved dogrose down
His cheeks the forth-and-flaunting sun
Had swarthed about with lion-brown
Before the Spring was done.

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St. Winefred's Well

© Gerard Manley Hopkins

ACT I. SC. IEnter Teryth from riding, Winefred following.T. WHAT is it, Gwen, my girl? why do you hover and haunt me? W. You came by Caerwys, sir?
T. I came by Caerwys.
W. There
Some messenger there might have met you from my uncle.

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Strike, Churl

© Gerard Manley Hopkins

Strike, churl; hurl, cheerless wind, then; heltering hail
May’s beauty massacre and wisp?d wild clouds grow
Out on the giant air; tell Summer No,
Bid joy back, have at the harvest, keep Hope pale.

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St. Alphonsus Rodriguez

© Gerard Manley Hopkins

Yet God (that hews mountain and continent,
Earth, all, out; who, with trickling increment,
Veins violets and tall trees makes more and more)
Could crowd career with conquest while there went
Those years and years by of world without event
That in Majorca Alfonso watched the door.

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The Shepherd’s Brow, Fronting Forked Lightning, Owns

© Gerard Manley Hopkins

The shepherd's brow, fronting forked lightning, owns
The horror and the havoc and the glory
Of it. Angels fall, they are towers, from heaven—a story
Of just, majestical, and giant groans.

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Epithalamion

© Gerard Manley Hopkins

By there comes a listless stranger: beckoned by the noise
He drops towards the river: unseen
Sees the bevy of them, how the boys
With dare and with downdolphinry and bellbright bodies huddling out,
Are earthworld, airworld, waterworld thorough hurled, all by turn and turn about.