149. Seven
Today I share with you a favorite poem of mine. Tomorrow I will share my connections with this poem. It’s powerful if you read it out loud.
—
We Are Seven
by William Wordsworth
—
—A simple child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
—
I met a little cottage girl:
She was eight ears old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.
—
She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
—Her beauty made me glad.
—
“Sisters and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be?”
“How many? Seven in all,” she said,
And wondering looked at me.
—
“And where are they? I pray you tell.”
She answered, “Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
—
“Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the churchyard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother.”
—
“You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be.”
—
Then did the little maid reply,
“Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree.”
—
“You run about, my little maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid,
Then ye are only five.”
—
“Their graves are green, they may be seen,”
The little maid replied.
“Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door,
And they are side by side.
—
“My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.
—
“And often after sunset, sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.
—
“The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
‘Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.
—
“So in the churchyard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.
—
“And when the ground was white with snow
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side.”
—
“How many are you, then,” said I,
“If they two are in heaven?”
Quick was the little maid’s reply,
“O master! we are seven.”
—
“But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!”
‘Twas throwing words away; for still
The little maid would have her will,
And said, “Nay, we are seven!”
