Seven

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!”