Seven Times One

Jean Ingelow (1820–1897)

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.