WORDSWORTH'S SHORTER

POEMS

THE WIND

WHAT way does the wind come? What way does he go?

He rides over the water and over the snow,

Through wood and through vale, and o'er rocky height Which the goat cannot climb, takes his sounding flight.

He tosses about in every bare tree,

As, if you look up, you plainly may see;
But how he will come, and whither he goes,
There's never a scholar in England knows.

As

'tis daylight, to-morrow, with me
You shall go to the orchard, and then you will see
That he has been there, and made a great rout,
And cracked the branches and strewn them about.

Hark! Over the roof he makes a pause,

And growls as if he would fix his claws
Right in the slates, and with a huge rattle
Drive them down like men in a battle.

But let him range round; he does us no harm.
We build up the fire, we're snug and warm;
Untouched by his breath, see, the candle shines bright,
And burns with a clear and steady light.

Come now, we'll to bed; and when we are there,
He may work his own will, and what shall we care?
He may knock at the door-we'll not let him in ;
May drive at the windows-we'll laugh at his din;
Let him seek his own home, wherever it be ;
Here's a cosy warm house for Edward and me.

WE ARE SEVEN

-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 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—

I sit and sing to them.