In School Days.
Still sits the school-house by the road,
A ragged beggar sunning;
Around it still the sumachs grow,
And blackberry vines are running.
Within the master's desk is seen,
Deep scarred by raps official;
The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jack-knife's carved initial.
Long years ago, one winter's sun
Shone over it at setting;
Lit up the western window pane,
And low eaves icy fretting.
It shone upon the tangled curls,
And brown eyes full of grieving,
Of one who still her steps delayed,
While all the school were leaving.
For near her stood the little boy
Her childish favor singled;
His cap was pulled low on his brow,
Where pride and shame were mingled.
With restless foot he pushed 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,
He heard the trembling 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 o'er her grave
Have forty years been growing;