School

His seat was by a window. So he dreamed. How could he study while the sunlight gleamed In small, sweet shapes, like wild things tame enough To dart to him and touch his hands for love? While there were profiles carved in every cloud To mark as grim or ludicrous or proud, And agile shadowings to writhe and crawl Like ghostly spiders up and down the wall, He could not help but turn their way to look. His eyes, that would not follow down his book The muddy trudgings of deliberate words, Reflected blue and silver flights of birds. You would not think there was so much to trace Of wonderment on just a window space.

But once, when a frail scrap of paper moon Enchanted him from ten o'clock, till noon, They moved him to the middle of the room. He learned his lesson then for very gloom,

Until, came glowing to a nearby chair, A little girl with sunset in her hair. His soul recolored. The forlorn dreams came To warm themselves once more at this new flame. He pushed aside the dusty Greek. He had A different way to read the Iliad. While through cold ashes others groped to learn, He lit the towers of Troy and saw them burn.