Classic Poem

He woke from slumber rubbing his eyes,
vexed, he cursed this adult world and all its ghosts.
The cool shades of trees spread in the village morning;
plains with their open spaces led him on.
And images of terror ran frenzied through his mind;
the impulse to rebel and run away recurred.
He walked resentfully, dragging his feet;
his heart within him silently wept.
His clothes smelt of ink,
his head was drenched with its " fragrant " odor.
Revolt was brewing like a gale
silently in the heart of the little boy.
. . . .

He threw a glance at his teacher, that tyrannical elder.
What frenzied passion was hidden in his breast?
Around him his schoolmates, bright flowers,
lilies of the valley, wild daisies,
That take pleasure in the sun, there were a thousand temptations
to break away and be joyful.
But now drowsiness dwelt in their souls
and slumber crept over their spirits.
They grew leaden-eyed, nodding their heads
still bowed over their slates.
Every time sleep enfolded them round,
and spread its dewy wing above them
Thunder would roar overhead
a lofty and tumultuous echo.
They would wake and murmur a few words
then fall asleep again, and again the wind would roar.