By Ann Taylor & Jane Taylor
TWINKLE, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are !
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.
Then the trav’ller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.
In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often thro’ my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.
‘Tis your bright and tiny spark,
Lights the trav’ller in the dark :
Tho’ I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
Ann Taylor was born in England. She is best known for her work on children’s poems and stories with her sister, Jane, author of such well known poems as “The Star” (more easily recognized as lyrics for the nursery rhyme, “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”). After several joint volumes, Taylor married and ceased publishing poetry for some time. Only in the late 1820’s did Taylor begin to publish her poetry again.
British engraver, poet, and novelist Jane Taylor was born in London to Ann Martin Taylor and Isaac Taylor, an engraver, painter, and minister. Taylor frequently collaborated with her sister Ann, and the two were some of the earliest known children’s poets. Taylor’s work was widely reviewed and translated during her lifetime, and poet Robert Browning acknowledged her influence on his work. Contemporary critic Stuart Curran noted, “Taylor’s capacity to reveal the inner life as a thing is, it could be asserted, unrivaled in English literature before Dickens.”
More Poems about Nature
What Women Are Made Of
We are all ventricle, spine, lung, larynx, and gut.
Clavicle and nape, what lies forked in an open palm;
we are follicle and temple. We are ankle, arch,
sole. Pore and rib, pelvis and root
and tongue. We are wishbone and gland and molar
Of Tribulation, these are They,
Denoted by the White.
— Emily Dickinson
in the split geode
a Santa’s grotto
every surface —
like sea urchins’ —
in the doorways
sleepers from the womb
to make of anything succulent