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,
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!"
'T was throwing words away; for still
The little maid would have her will,
And say, "Nay, we are seven!"

-- William Wordsworth

Just thought of this poem again, I have no idea why.

I've only just started on Oscar Wilde's An Ideal Husband, but it seems like quite a fun and interesting read. Its hilarious, I tell you.

So far, there's cheesy/outrageous (depending on how you want to look at it) flirting...

MABEL CHILTERN: You are very late!
LORD GORING: Have you missed me?
MABEL CHILTERN: Awfully!
LORD GORING: Then I am sorry I did not stay away longer. I like being missed.

MABEL CHILTERN: How horrid you have been! You have never talked to me the whole evening!
LORD GORING: How could I? You went away with the child-diplomatist.
MABEL CHILTERN: You might have followed us. Pursuit would have been only polite. I don't think I like you at all this evening!
LORD GORING: I like you immensely.
MABEL CHILTERN: Well, I wish you'd show it a more marked way!

There's also crazy/ridiculous women...

MRS MARCHMONT: [in her most dreamy manner] I like looking at geniuses and listening to beautiful people.
LORD GORING: Ah! That is morbid of you, Mrs Marchmont.
MRS MARCHMONT: [brightening to a look of real pleasure] I am so glad to hear you say that. Marchmont and I have been married for seven years, and he has never once told me that I was morbid. Men are so painfully unobservant!

VICOMTE DE NANJAC: May I have the honour of taking you down to supper, Comtesse?
LADY BASILDON: [coldly] I never take supper, thank you, Vicomte. [The Vicomte is about to retire. Lady Basildon, seeing this, rises at once and takes his arm.] But I will come down with you with pleasure.
VICOMTE DE NANJAC: I am so fond of eating! I am very English in all my tastes.
LADY BASILDON: You look quite English, Vicomte, quite English.

And memorable/witty lines! (:

MABEL CHILTERN: What sort of woman is she?
LORD GORING: Oh! a genius in the daytime and a beauty at night!
MABEL CHILTERN: I dislike her already.
LORD GORING: That shows your admirable good taste.

LADY BASILDON: I delight in talking politics. I talk them all day long. But I can't bear listening to them. I don't know how the unfortunate men in the House stand these long debates.
LORD GORING: By never listening.
LADY BASILDON: Really?
LORD GORING: [in his most serious manner] Of course. You see, it is a very dangerous thing to listen. If one listens one may be convinced; and a man who allows himself to be convinced by an argument is a thoroughly unreasonable person.
LADY BASILDON: Ah! That accounts for so much in men that I have never understood, and so much in women that husbands never appreciate in them!

LORD GORING: Handsome woman, Mrs Cheveley!
LADY BASILDON: [stiffly] Please don't praise other women in our presence. You might wait for us to do that!
LORD GORING: I did wait.

LORD GORING: Women have a wonderful instinct. They can discover about everything except the obvious.

LORD GORING: Robert, how could you have sold yourself for money?
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN: [excitedly] I did not sell myself for money. I bought success at a great price. That is all.

Hahaha. I'll try finishing the book by today. (:

Sonnet 75  by Edmund Spenser

 One day I wrote her name upon the strand,*                                             shore

    But came the waves and washed it away:

    Agayne I wrote it with a second hand

    But came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray,*                              prey

“Vayne man,” sayd she, “that doest in vaine assay,*                                 attempt

    A mortall thing so to immortalize,

    For I my selve shall lyke to this decay,

    And eek* my name bee wiped out lykewize.”                                        also

“Not so,” quod I, “let baser things devize*                                                 contrive

    To dy in dust, but you shall live by fame:

    My verse your vertues rare shall eternize,

    And in the heavens wryte your glorious name.

Where whenas death shall all the world subdew,

    Our love shall live, and later life renew.”

I think I like this sonnet. But seriously, I would like it even more if I don't have to write a 1500 words essay on it. On a happier note, at least I've finished my HW101 essay. (:  Now, if only I can figure out how to start my HL102 essay.