Seven Times One
There’s no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There’s no rain left in heaven.
I ’ve said my “seven times” over and over,—
Seven times one are seven.
I am old,—so old I can write a letter;
My birthday lessons are done.
The lambs play always,—they know no better;
They are only one times one.
O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing
And shining so round and low.
You were bright—ah, bright—but your light is failing;
You are nothing now but a bow.
You Moon! have you done something wrong in heaven,
That God has hidden your face?
I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.
O velvet Bee! you ’re a dusty fellow,—
You ’ve powdered your legs with gold.
O brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold!
O Columbine! open your folded wrapper,
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell!
O Cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper
That hangs in your clear green bell!
And show me your nest with the young ones in it,—
I will not steal them away;
I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet!
I am seven times one to-day.