Across the fields the scent of autumn days, The bronze and russet hills, the dim blue haze, The stir and laughter of regathered youth, The rustle of dead leaves along the ways. Once more the old familiar classrooms fill; The clustered feet come trampling o'er the sill, But vanished is the well-remembered face That waited by the desk. We see him still. This was his lecture room, and when he spoke Ah, what a vision on our senses broke; We saw the pageantry of human mind And all the sense of wonder in us woke. The freight of human passion that endears Our language, echoed to us down the years; We laughed with Chaucer on the pilgrims' road, Saw Juliet leaning in a mist of tears. And every haunted music English bore From out the heart of man, seemed in his store; How like the clang of swords his voice could bring The blood and anger of the ballad lore! In this his room it never was his plan To stint his teaching to a narrow span -- And most of all, we learned by watching him How Nature blends a scholar and a man. What humor, and what charm! We all and each Adored him for his gracious gift of speech; In him his favorite line was born again -- "And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach." |