———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
sun-set,
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!”
