THE-SCHOOL
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was not drowsy though the scholars droned.Hearing the music that they made of Greek,Whenever Helen’s unforgotten face Sent other young men whisking off to war ;Hearing much mention of the hecatombs, And Pericles, and fishes that were purple, Temples in white, and trees that they named olive;And thinking always of proud Athens shiningUpon her hill, that slanted to her sea : Equipped with Grecian thoughts, how could I liveAmong my father’s folk? My father’s houseWas narrow and his fields were nauseous. I kicked his clods for being common dirt, Worthy a world which never could be Greek;Cursed the paternity that planted me One green leaf in a wilderness of autumn ; And wept, as fitting such a fruitful spirit
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