When I was young my teachers were the old. I gave up fire for form till I was cold. I suffered like a metal being cast. I went to school to age to learn the past. Now when I am old my teachers are the young. What can't be molded must be cracked and sprung. I strain at lessons fit to start a suture. I got to school to youth to learn the future. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SCARLET TANAGER by JOEL BENTON I SHALL LIVE TO BE OLD by SARA TEASDALE DANAIDES: THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND EARTH by AESCHYLUS BROKEN MUSIC by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 5. THE LOCH by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE SKY-GYPSY by WALTER BARDECK |