Democrat, great lover of mankind, and athiest.

The words of Mr Percy Shelley. Last weeks lecture on how we have an over-romanticised and melodramatic view of the Romantic poets, just made me fall deeper into an excessive and sentimental love, and a desire to be just like them. You can't help falling head over heels for the people that rejected the religion, convention and style of their time - replacing the detached voice with the personal outpouring. The scandalous heresy and rejection of society is undeniably romantic - who can resist the words of Blake - "the true poet is of the Devil's party."

On that note - here's a seemingly inoffensive piece of Wordsworth -

A simple child, dear brother Jim,
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 above, 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 all the summer 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?"
The little Maiden did 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!"

1798 - Lyrical Ballads

Everyone should buy the 1798 book of poems by Wordsworth & Coleridge. :)
Anyway - if you reread the poem, with the social position of the questioner and girl in mind, and think about the year as that leading to the first English census (and the u/c obsession with counting the poor - reducing humans to statistics) - and you might want to read it as showing the ambiguity of something that appears as fact, with the forcing of one definition on the poor. Interestingly - take away the first stanza (contribute by Coleridge, not Wordsworth) - does that change the way the reader approaches the poem. The interpretation isn't prescribed. Thankyou Mrs Glen - you do say such wonderful things. :)

Well - that's far too much practical criticism for me today. Trying pretty hard for this weeks essay - most likely to be on the presentation of the savage/savagery in Gulliver's Travels and Robinson Crusoe. Trying to broach away from the text book feminisim essay - but it shall no doubt result in another text book essay on the corporeal body. As ever. (No philosophy or high thoughts for Anna - all I care for is sexuality, skin and excrement).

I have also decided on a life plan - which will hopefully provide a definate structure for at least 3 more years. Thinking - history of art MA (fingers crossed at UCL), then teaching (either PGCE or Teach First) - so I could teach art and english. :) But now I need to massively brush up my art knowledge - I suppose the interview would be sometime at the end of the year.

Hoorayforme.