A Garden of Innocence and Virtue: Ann Taylor’s Blossoms in Verse

January 30, 1782

On this day, dear gardeners and lovers of verse, we celebrate the birth of Ann Taylor, an English poet and literary critic whose words carry the fresh, tender joy of a spring garden in bloom.

Alongside her sister Jane, also a poet, Ann captured the spirit of nature and the gentle lessons of gardening with an enchanting simplicity.

Her reminder that “The most important thing is to wear a smile” feels as vital today as it must have been in her time, a sunny encouragement to greet each day in the garden with delight and kindness.

Gardening, much like poetry, is an art of patience and gentle care.

Ann Taylor’s poems are a wreath of pure garden charm, inviting us to step lightly among petals and leaves, savoring the small treasures that nature offers.

The garden becomes a stage where childhood’s innocence and wisdom unfold—where daisies are dearer than the gaudy tulips, and sweet obedience to mamma’s wise counsel is prized most of all.

In Come And Play In The Garden, Taylor wraps us in a quaint invitation to revel in the garden’s delights without harm:

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.

Such gentle respect for nature’s delicate balance is the heart of gardening itself.

Taylor's sweet admonition to "not pick the pretty flowers" reminds us that in tending a garden, we are stewards, not conquerors.

Then comes The Gaudy Flower Poem, a delightful meditation on beauty and vanity in the garden, where the humble daisy quietly outshines the ostentatious tulip:

Why does my Anna toss her head,
And look so scornfully around,
As if she scarcely deigned to tread
Upon the daisy-dappled ground?

Does fancied beauty fire thine eye,
The brilliant tint, the satin skin?
Does the loved glass, in passing by,
Reflect a graceful form and thin?

Alas! that form, and brilliant fire,
Will never win beholder's love;
It may, indeed, make fools admire,
But ne'er the wise and good can move.

So grows the tulip, gay and bold,
The broadest sunshine its delight;
Like rubies, or like burnished gold,
It shows its petals, glossy bright.

But who the gaudy floweret crops,
As if to court a sweet perfume!
Admired it blows, neglected drops,
And sinks unheeded to its doom.

The virtues of the heart may move
Affections of a genial kind;
While beauty fails to stir our love,
And wins the eye, but not the mind.

Oh, how gardeners will recognize the truth in these lines!

The loudest bloom is often the least lasting, while the quiet charmers —the daisies and field flowers —offer authentic grace without fanfare.

Finally, The Field Daisy offers a tender voice from that modest, steadfast bloom, urging gentle steps and heralding the end of winter’s hold:

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 covered 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."

Dear reader, this day reminds us that gardening is as much about the small, often overlooked moments as it is about grand displays.

Ann Taylor’s verses invite a celebration of modest beauty, of obedient love to nature’s rules, and above all, of wearing that ever-important smile as we wander through our own gardens.

What richer joy for any gardener’s heart?