In kep the thick black curtains drawn, Am I not tellin' thee summat? Against the knockin' of sevenfold dawn, An' red-tipped candles from morn to morn Have dipped an' danced upon thy brawn Till thou art worn-- Oh, I have cost thee summat. Look in the mirror an' see thy-sen, --What, I am showin' thee summat. Wasted an' wan tha sees thy-sen, An' thy hand that holds the mirror shakes Till tha drops the glass and tha shudders when Thy luck breaks. Sure, tha'rt afraid o' summat. Frail thou art, my saucy man, --Listen, I'm tellin' thee summat. Tottering and tired thou art, my man, Tha came to say good-bye to me, An' tha's done it so well, that now I can Part wi' thee. --Master, I'm givin' thee summat. THE SCHOOLMASTER I =A Snowy Day in School= All the slow school hours, round the irregular hum of the class, Have pressed immeasurable spaces of hoarse silence Muffling my mind, as snow muffles the sounds that pass Down the soiled street. We have pattered the lessons ceaselessly-- But the faces of the boys, in the brooding, yellow light Have shone for me like a crowded constellation of stars, Like full-blown flowers dimly shaking at the night, Like floating froth on an ebbing shore in the moon. Out of each star, dark, strange beams that disquiet: In the open depths of each flower, dark restless drops: Twin bubbles, shadow-full of mystery and challenge in the foam's whispering riot: --How can I answer the challenge of so many eyes! The thick snow is crumpled on the roof, it plunges down Awfully. Must I call back those hundred eyes?--A voice Wakes from the hum, faltering about a noun-- My question! My God, I must break from this hoarse silence That rustles beyond the stars to me.--There, I have startled a hundred eyes, and I must look Them an answer back. It is more than I can bear. The snow descends as if the dull sky shook In flakes of shadow down; and through the gap Between the ruddy schools sweeps one black rook. The rough snowball in the playground stands huge and still With fair flakes settling down on it.--Beyond, the town Is lost in the shadowed silence the skies distil. And all things are possessed by silence, and they can brood Wrapped up in the sky's dim space of hoarse silence Earnestly--and oh for me this class is a bitter rood. II =The Best of School= The blinds are drawn because of the sun, And the boys and the room in a colourless gloom Of under-water float: bright ripples run Across the walls as the blinds are blown To let the sunlight in; and I, As I sit on the beach of the class alone, Watch the boys in their summer blouses, As they write, their round heads busily bowed: And one after another rouses And lifts his face and looks at me, And my eyes meet his very quietly, Then he turns again to his work, with glee.