Classic and Contemporary Poetry
OUR SCHOOLMASTER, by ALICE CARY Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: We used to think it was so queer Last Line: And read love-verses tenderly. Subject(s): Teaching & Teachers; Educators; Professors | ||||||||
WE used to think it was so queer To see him, in his thin gray hair, Sticking our quills behind his ear, And straight forgetting they were there. We used to think it was so strange That he should twist such hair to curls, And that his wrinkled cheek should change Its color like a bashful girl's. Our foolish mirth defied all rule, As glances, each of each, we stole, The morning that he wore to school A rose-bud in his button-hole. And very sagely we agreed That such a dunce was never known -- Fifty! and trying still to read Love-verses with a tender tone! No joyous smile would ever stir Our sober looks, we often said, If we were but a School-master, And had, withal, his old white head. One day we cut his knotty staff Nearly in two, and each and all Of us declared that we should laugh To see it break and let him fall. Upon his old pine desk we drew His picture -- pitiful to see, Wrinkled and bald -- half false, half true, And wrote beneath it, Twenty-three! Next day came eight o'clock and nine, But he came not: our pulses quick With play, we said it would be fine If the old School-master were sick. And still the beech-trees bear the scars Of wounds which we that morning made, Cutting their silvery bark to stars Whereon to count the games we played. At last, as tired as we could be, Upon a clay-bank, strangely still, We sat down in a row to see His worn-out hat come up the hill. 'T was hanging up at home -- a quill Notched down, and sticking in the band, And leaned against his arm-chair, still His staff was waiting for his hand. Across his feet his threadbare coat Was lying, stuffed with many a roll Of "copy-plates," and, sad to note, A dead rose in the button-hole. And he no more might take his place Our lessons and our lives to plan: Cold Death had kissed the wrinkled face Of that most gentle gentleman. Ah me, what bitter tears made blind Our young eyes, for our thoughtless sin, As two and two we walked behind The long black coffin he was in. And all, sad women now, and men With wrinkles and gray hairs, can see How he might wear a rose-bud then, And read love-verses tenderly. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CORRESPONDENCE-SCHOOL INSTRUCTOR SAYS GOODBYE TO HIS POETRY STUDENTS by GALWAY KINNELL GRATITUDE TO OLD TEACHERS by ROBERT BLY TWO RAMAGES FOR OLD MASTERS by ROBERT BLY ON FLUNKING A NICE BOY OUT OF SCHOOL by JOHN CIARDI HER MONOLOGUE OF DARK CREPE WITH EDGES OF LIGHT by NORMAN DUBIE OF POLITICS, & ART by NORMAN DUBIE SEVERAL MEASURES FOR THE LITTLE LOST by NORMAN DUBIE A SPINSTER'S STINT by ALICE CARY |
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