In School-Days

John Greenleaf Whittier

1807 to 1892

Poem Image
Track 1

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It touched the tangled golden curls,
Of one who still her steps delayed
A ragged beggar sunning;
Still memory to a gray-haired man
Because,"—the brown eyes lower fell,—
Long years ago a winter sun
And heard the tremble of her voice,
I'm sorry that I spelt the word:
Lament their triumph and his loss,
He saw her lift her eyes; he felt
Shone over it at setting;
And blackberry vines are running.
I hate to go above you,
The warping floor, the battered seats,
And low eaves' icy fretting.
Pushing with restless feet the snow
Lit up its western window-panes,
Its door's worn sill, betraying
The jack-knife's carved initial;
The charcoal frescoes on its wall;
That sweet child-face is showing.
For near her stood the little boy
And brown eyes full of grieving,
When all the school were leaving.
He lives to learn, in life's hard school,
How few who pass above him
Still sits the school-house by the road,
Went storming out to playing!
The blue-checked apron fingered.
As restlessly her tiny hands
Deep scarred by raps official;
Like her,—because they love him.
Within, the master's desk is seen,
Because, you see, I love you!
As if a fault confessing.
The feet that, creeping slow to school,
His cap pulled low upon a face
Around it still the sumachs grow,
To right and left, he lingered;—
Her childish favor singled:
The soft hand's light caressing,
Have forty years been growing!
Where pride and shame were mingled.
Dear girl: the grasses on her grave

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