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Still sits the school-house by the road,
A ragged beggar sleeping;
Around it still the sumachs grow,
And blackberry-vines are creeping.
Within, the master's desk is seen,
Deep-scarred by raps official;
The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jack-knife's carved initial;
The charcoal frescoes on its wall;
Its door's worn sill, betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school,
Went storming out to playing!
Long years ago a winter sun
Shone over it at setting;
Lit up its western window-panes,
And low eaves' icy fretting.
It touched the tangled golden curls,
And brown eyes full of grieving,
Of one who still her steps delayed
When all the school were leaving.
For near it stood the little boy
Her childish favor singled;
His cap pulled low upon a face
Where pride and shame were mingled.
Pushing with restless feet the snow
To right and left, he lingered;---
As restlessly her tiny hands
The blue-checked apron fingered.
He saw her lift her eyes; he felt
The soft hand's light caressing,
And heard the tremble of her voice,
As if a fault confessing.
"I'm sorry that I spelt the word:
I hate to go above you,
Because,"---the brown eyes lower fell,---
"Because, you see, I love you!"
Still memory to a gray-haired man
That sweet child-face is showing.
Dear girl! the grasses on her grave
Have forty years been growing!
He lives to learn, in life's hard school,
How few who pass above him
Lament their triumph and his loss,
Like her, because they love him.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Read poems about / on: school, sorry, loss, memory, hate, pride, girl, winter, snow, house, child, sun, light, children, sleep
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Rebecca Duff (7/16/2007 12:45:00 AM)
My mother, now 80 years of age, memorized this poem for a school project. She kept the book of poems that it was in, and when I was in 6th grade, about 9 or 10, I too memorized this from the same book. However, I remember the title being 'School Daze' and the first lst stanza totally different..a ragged beggar sunning, and blackberry vines running. I wonder if I am wrong, was the book wrong or what. I have kept this sweet little poem in my heart tucked away for years, but occasionally bring it forward to verse. I can picture her and her sweetheart perfectly. This is what poetry is to me. A sweet story. |
Jim Dunlap (9/3/2005 12:51:00 AM)
This is one of my favorite poems. I can't conceive of how he could have done it better. It's absolutely stunning. A wonderful write. |
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John Greenleaf Whittier
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