Poem by Ann Taylor

Negligent Mary

AH, Mary! what, do you for dolly not care?
And why is she left on the floor?
Forsaken, and cover'd with dust, I declare;
With you I must trust her no more.

I thought you were pleased, as you took her so gladly,
When on your birthday she was sent;
Did I ever suppose you would use her so sadly?
Was that, do you think, what I meant?

With her bonnet of straw you once were delighted,
And trimm'd it so pretty with pink;
But now it is crumpled, and dolly is slighted:
Her nurse quite forgets her, I think.

Suppose now–for Mary is dolly to me,
Whom I love to see tidy and fair–
Suppose I should leave you, as dolly I see,
In tatters, and comfortless there.

But dolly feels nothing, as you do, my dear,
Nor cares for her negligent nurse:
If I were as careless as you are, I fear,
Your lot, and my fault, would be worse.

And therefore it is, in my Mary, I strive
To check every fault that I see:
Mary's doll is but waxen–mamma's is alive,
And of far more importance than she. 

1. Deaf Martha
2. Learning To Go Alone
3. Mischief
4. The Baby's Dance
5. The Little Negro

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