There is freedom waiting for you / On the breezes of the sky / And you ask "What if I fall?" / Oh but my darling / What if you fly?” - Erin Hanson b.1991

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WE ARE SEVEN

William Wordsworth 1770-1850

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 years 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 church-yard lie, 

My sister and my brother; 

And, in the church-yard 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 church-yard lie, 

Beneath the church-yard tree.” 

“You run about, my little Maid, 

Your limbs they are alive; 

If two are in the church-yard 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 church-yard 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!”

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THE LOOK
Sara Teasedale 1884-1933

Stephen kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.

Stephen’s kiss was lost in jest,
Robin’s lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin’s eyes
Haunts me night and day.

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SOMEONE
Walter de la Mare 1873-1956

Some one came knocking
At my wee, small door;
Someone came knocking;
I'm sure-sure-sure;
I listened, I opened,
I looked to left and right,
But nought there was a stirring
In the still dark night;
Only the busy beetle
Tap-tapping in the wall,
Only from the forest
The screech-owl's call,
Only the cricket whistling
While the dewdrops fall,
So I know not who came knocking,
At all, at all, at all.

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What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare? - W.H. Davies 1871-1940

POETRY TO PLEASE IS UPDATED EVERY FRIDAY

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