"The School" by William Blake

Sunday September 27, 2009

Another poem from the English-language curriculum that I teach...

The School

William Blake

I love to rise in a summer morn

When the birds sing on every tree;

The distant huntsman winds his horn,

And the sky-lark sings with me.

O! what sweet company!

But to go to school in a summer morn,

O! it drives all joy away;

Under a cruel eye outworn

The little ones spend the day

In sighing and dismay.

Ah! then at times I drooping sit,

And spend many an anxious hour;

Nor in my book can I take delight,

Nor sit in learning's bower,

Worn through with the dreary shower.

How can the bird that is born for joy

Sit in a cage and sing?

How can a child, when fears annoy,

But droop his tender wing,

And forget his youthful spring?

This post was originally hosted elsewhere.