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TILL 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 jack-knife's carved initial;
The charcoal frescoes on its wall;
Its door's worn sill, betraying
Went storming out to playing!
Long years ago a winter sun
Shone over it at setting;
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.
Have forty years been growing!
How few who pass above him
-John Greenleaf Whittier,
WEET and low, sweet and
Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow,
Blow him again to me: While my little one, while my pretty
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon: Rest, rest, on mother's breast,
Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west
Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
HE crimson sunset faded into
the twilight fell;
Above my head, in the soft purple sky,
a cry That seemed to say “Farewell!”
I watched them; one sailed east, and one
soared west, And one went floating south; while
like a knell That mournful cry the empty sky pos
sessed, “Farewell, farewell, farewell!”
“Farewell!” I thought, it is the earth's
one speech; All human voices the sad chorus swell;
Though mighty love to heaven's high
gate may reach, Yet must he say “Farewell !”
The rolling world is girdled with the
sound, Perpetually breathed from all who
dwell Upon its bosom, for no place is found
Where is not heard “Farewell!”
Farewell, farewell !” from wave to
wave 'tis tossed, From wind to wind: earth has one tale
to tell; All other sounds are dulled and drowned