I like the poet named Jane Taylor (23 September 1783 – 13 April 1824), was an English poet and novelist. Together with her sister, Ann Taylor, they composed the poem Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. Although this was Taylor’s most famous piece of work, the poem was almost always uncredited,
"Its opening stanza persists as if it were folklore, the name of its creator almost entirely forgotten.” Quoted from the information on wikipedia. This was the part whereby it captured my attention totally, causing me to read deeper and soon know her more. Such a great masterpiece, Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, which was as today used worldwide but she was uncredited and the authorship was generally forgotten.
Jane and Ann’s early work have often been confused of authorship as they were often published together. Ann Taylor's son, Josiah Gilbert, wrote in her biography, "two little poems–'My Mother,' and 'Twinkle, twinkle, little Star,' are perhaps, more frequently quoted than any; the first, a lyric of life, was by Ann, the second, of nature, by Jane; and they illustrate this difference between the sisters."
The sisters were born in an extensive literary family with their mother writing many works of advice and their father an engraver and later a dissenting minister. Such advantages may allow the sisters to be influenced with the art of poetry and to let them have the potential to become famous.
When Jane Taylor died of cancer at an age of 40 years old, her mind is still “teeming with unfulfilled projects.” A quote from wikipedia. She had certainly published many famous works but the authorship forgotten, she was still a renowned English poet and novelist worldwide, or at least in Enlgand. After about two centuries have passed after her composing of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, people from all over the world are still using the poem for kids. Well I can say that 2 centuries of wear and tear could not tear down the twinkling stars high up in the sky!


Below are the 3 poems i have found:

The Violet

Down in a green and shady bed,
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head
As if to hide from view.
And yet it was a lovely flower,
Its colour bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.

Yet thus it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused a sweet perfume
,
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go
This pretty flower to see;
That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.

The Village Green

On the cheerful village green,
Skirted round with houses small,
All the boys and girls are seen,
Playing there with hoop and ball.

Now they frolic hand in hand,
Making many a merry chain;
Then they form a warlike band,
Marching o'er the level plain.

Now ascends the worsted ball,
High it rises in the air,
Or against the cottage wall,
Up and down it bounces there.

Then the hoop, with even pace,
Runs before the merry throngs;
Joy is seen in every face,
Joy is heard in cheerful songs.

Rich array, and mansions proud,
Gilded toys, and costly fare,
Would not make the little crowd
Half so happy as they are.

Then, contented with my state,
Where true pleasure may be seen,
Let me envy not the great,
On a cheerful village green.

The Disappointment

In tears to her mother poor Harriet came,
Let us listen to hear what she says:
"O see, dear mamma, it is pouring with rain,
We cannot go out in the chaise.

"All the week I have long'd for this holiday so,
And fancied the minutes were hours;
And now that I'm dress'd and all ready to go,
Do look at those terrible showers! “

"I'm sorry, my dear, " her kind mother replied,
The rain disappoints us to-day;
But sorrow still more that you fret for a ride,
In such an extravagant way.

"These slight disappointments are sent to prepare
For what may hereafter befall;
For seasons of real disappointment and care,
Which commonly happen to all.

"For just like to-day with its holiday lost,
Is life and its comforts at best:
Our pleasures are blighted, our purposes cross'd,
To teach us it is not our rest.

"And when those distresses and crosses appear,
With which you may shortly be tried,
You'll wonder that ever you wasted a tear
On merely the loss of a ride.

"But though the world's pleasures are fleeting and vain,
Religion is lasting and true;
Real pleasure and peace in her paths you may gain,
Nor will disappointment ensue.”


Bibliography:
http://www.poemhunter.com/jane-taylor/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jane_Taylor