We Are Seven, by William Wordsworth, is the story of the narrator speaking to a little girl. She is one of seven children, but two are dead. The narrator insists then that she is one of five, but she still holds tight to the idea that her siblings are all with her.
"How many are you, then," said I,I know it sounds dark (dead children? come on!), but reading it always warms my heart. And I like to believe that no matter where you go or what happens to you, you are always part of a family. And they will always love you and keep you close.
"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!"
Annabel Lee, by Edgar Allan Poe, is another poem about the dearly departed. Annabel Lee is the star-crossed love of the narrator, torn from him because they were happier together than even the angels in Heaven.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,Sure, the poem relates a truly broken heart, but I can't get over the amount of love expressed.
Went envying her and me--
Yes!--that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
I was introduced to my final favorite, The Daffodils, also by Wordsworth, in choir my freshman year of high school. We sang this poem in a sprightly tune that I still remember to this day. This poem doesn't speak of love or death, but of a dream (or memory?) to which the author returns often and with pleasure.
For oft, when on my couch I lieAll three of these are poems that we studied during my American Lit class sophomore year with Mr. Benedetto. He must have passed a true love of poetry on to us if I remember all of these (and a few others) enough to quote them more than 10 years later. Thanks for that, Mr. Benedetto.
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
ps - I only plagiarized excerpts from these poems. I highly recommend the full versions, to which I have linked.
Extra Credit: Ever write poetry yourself? Funny you should ask! I only just today stumbled across a poem I wrote in the fourth grade. Keep that in mind as you read -- fourth grade!
by Jamie H.
After red comes brown
Very beautiful colors