Little Girls Must Not Fret by Jane Taylor

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.

by Jane Taylor

Other poems by 'Jane Taylor'

The Apple-Tree

The Disappointment

The Good-Natured Girls

The Holidays

The Orphan

The Spider

The Village Green

The Violet

Come and Play in the Garden

Finery

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