The Schools

This age that’s with us is your angel of death, Its bread and butter cares catch your soul’s breath.

Your heart recoils from shock of combat; life Is death, that deadens in men the joy of strife.

Learning estranged you from such exaltation As would not let man’s mind desert its station;

A falcon’s eyes were yours by Nature’s right, Slavishness left them only a poor wren’s sight,

And the schools hid from them those mysteries That yield to hill’s and deserts still assize.