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 marybuds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold!
O columbine, open your folded wrapper,
Where two twin turtledoves dwell
O cuckoopint, 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.
— Jean Ingelow