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 churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And in the churchyard 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 churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree.
You run about, my little maid
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid,
Then ye are only five.
Their graves are green, they may be seen.
The little maid replied,
Twelve steps or more from mother’s door
And they are side by side.
