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.
Little Girls Must Not Fret
Ann Taylor
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Poem topics: I love you, away, child, smile, dear, head, sweet, good, play, tear, forget, tired, thought, matter, love, night, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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