In School-Days
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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 frescos 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 her 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.
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