We Are Seven BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

We Are Seven

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

 

———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!”

 

我们是七兄妹

 

天真的孩童，

轻轻地吸着气，

浸在肢体的活力中，

是否该知死亡的真义？

 

我偶遇一个农家女，

她说自己有八岁；

她的头发浓密又卷曲

绕着她的头儿来伏垂。

 

她绽放着乡野气息，

她绽放着天真烂漫：

她的双眼清澈如碧

－她的美丽让我欣欢。

 

“姐妹和兄弟， 小姑娘，

你们有几个？”

“几个？ 我家有七兄妹，” 她讲， 

一边把我琢磨

 

“他们都在哪？ 求你告诉我。”

她回答， “我们是七兄妹；

两个在康威生活， 

两个出海不常归。

 

“两个在教堂院里躺， 

是我的姐姐和哥哥；

还有教堂院里的小木房， 

是妈妈和我的家舍。”

 

“你说两个在康威，

两个在出海，

求你告诉我， 怎是七兄妹！

小姑娘， 我还是不明白。”

 

小姑娘依旧这般讲，

“确是七兄妹在我家；

两个在教堂院里躺， 

躺在那颗大树下。”

 

“你周遭跑， 小姑娘，

你这般活力充沛，

如果两个在教堂院里葬，

你家只有五兄妹。”  

 

“他们的坟地青翠， 他们还同我相会，”

小姑娘答道， 

“离我家只有十二步遥，

他俩紧紧相依靠。

 

“我在那里织长袜，

我在那里织手帕，

我在那里坐下，

为他俩把歌唱。

 

“先生， 常常日落后， 

还是很亮的傍晚，

带着我的小碗走，

我去那里吃晚餐。

 

“先死去的是姐姐简；

她躺在床上啜泣，

直到天父把疼痛驱赶；

她才同我们别离。

 

“她被葬在教堂院子里； 

当草地干涸，

我们围着她的坟地游戏，

还有强哥哥陪着我。

 

“当大地变得雪白，

当我能奔跑溜雪耍玩，

强哥哥也无奈地离开， 

他就躺在简身边。”

 

“如此， 你们兄妹几个？” 我问她，

“如果他俩在天堂里飞？”

小姑娘脱口答，

“先生， 我们是七兄妹。”

 

“可是他们已逝去， 他俩已逝去！

他们的灵魂在天堂里飞！”

不该这般说； 因为依然

小姑娘守着她的信念，

在说， “不， 我们是七兄妹！”