At School

The bees are in the meadow, 
And the swallows in the sky; 
The cattle in the shadow 
Watch the river running by. 
The wheat is hardly stirring; 
The heavy ox-team lags; 
The dragon-fly is whirring 
Through the yellow-blossomed flags. 

And down beside the river, 
Where the trees lean o’er the pool, 
Where the shadows reach and quiver, 
A boy has come to school. 
His teachers are the swallows 
And the river and the trees; 
His lessons are the shallows 
And the flowers and the bees. 

He sees the fly-wave on the stream, 
The otter steal along, 
The red-gilled, slow, deep-sided bream, 
He knows the mating-song.
The chirping green-fly on the grass 
Accepts his comrade meet; 
The small gray rabbits fearless pass; 
The birds light at his feet. 

He knows not he is learning; 
He thinks nor writes a word; 
But in the soul discerning 
A living spring is stirred. 

In after years—O, weary years! 
The river’s lesson, he 
Will try to speak to heedless ears 
In faltering minstrelsy!