{"id":8352,"date":"2022-07-10T01:00:00","date_gmt":"2022-07-10T05:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.newspaperhistory.com\/?p=8352"},"modified":"2022-07-10T01:00:00","modified_gmt":"2022-07-10T05:00:00","slug":"we-are-seven","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/we-are-seven\/","title":{"rendered":"We Are Seven"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

From the Grand Forks Daily Herald, July 10, 1914<\/a>. By William Wordsworth.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

A simple child,    That lightly draws its breath,And feels its life in every limb,    What should it know of death?<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

I met a little cottage girl;    She was 8 years old, she said;Her hair was thick with many a curl    That clustered round her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

She had a rustic, woodland air,    And she was wildly clad;Her eyes were fair, and very fair\u2014    Her beauty made me glad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cSisters and brothers, little maid,    How many may you be?\u201d\u201cHow many? Seven in all,\u201d she said,    And wondering looked at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd where are they? I pray you tell.\u201d    She answered, \u201cSeven are we;And two of us at Conway dwell,    And two are gone to sea;<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cTwo of us in the churchyard lie,    My sister and my brother;And, in the churchyard cottage, I    Dwell near them with my mother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou say that two at Conway dwell,    And two are gone to sea,Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell,    Sweet maid, how may this be?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

Then did the little maid reply,    \u201cSeven boys and girls are we;Two of us in the churchyard lie    Beneath the churchyard tree.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou run about, my little maid;    Your limbs they are alive;If two are in the churchyard laid    Then ye are only five.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cTheir graves are green, they may be seen,\u201d    The little maid replied;\u201cTwelve steps or more from my mother\u2019s door    And they are side by side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy stockings there I often knit,    My kerchief there I hem;And there upon the ground I sit    And sing a song to them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd often after sunset, sir,    When it is light and fair,I take my little porringer,    And eat my supper there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe first that died was Sister Jane;    In bed she moaning lay,Till God released her pain,    And then she went away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo in the churchyard she was laid;    And, when the grass was dry,Together round her grave we played,    My brother John and I.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd 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.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow many are you, then,\u201d said I,    \u201cIf they two are in Heaven?\u201dQuick was the little maid\u2019s reply:    \u201cO Master! We are seven.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut they are dead; those two are dead!    Their spirits are in Heaven?\u201d\u2019Twas throwing words away; for stillThe little maid would have her will,    And said, \u201cNay, we are seven.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

From the Grand Forks Daily Herald, July 10, 1914. 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 8 years old, she said;Her hair was thick with many a curl    That clustered round her head. She had […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[32,3],"tags":[326],"class_list":["post-8352","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-grand-forks-daily-herald","category-newspapers","tag-william-wordsworth"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8352","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8352"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8352\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8352"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8352"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8352"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}