To let the sunlight in; and I,

As I sit on the beach of the class alone,

Watch the boys in their summer blouses,

As they write, their round heads busily bowed:

And one after another rouses

And lifts his face and looks at me,

And my eyes meet his very quietly,

Then he turns again to his work, with glee.

With glee he turns, with a little glad

Ecstasy of work he turns from me,