Effects of Counting

      A recent visit to the Poetry Foundation website brought me to poems by William Wordsworth (1770-1850) -- and I counted sadly as I read his poem, "We Are Seven."  I offer its opening stanzas below (and the complete poem -- 17 stanzas -- is available here.) 

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.   

                    . . . .

         

Wordsworth's complete poem (13 more stanzas) is available here.