In School-Days

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 masters desk is seen,     Deep scarred by raps official;     The warping floor, the battered seats,     The jack-knifes carved initial;     The charcoal frescos on its wall;     Its doors 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 hands light caressing,     And heard the tremble of her voice,     As if a fault confessing.     Im 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 lifes hard school,     How few who pass above him     Lament their triumph and his loss,     Like her, because they love him.