Was it for this that I learned?
To be met by an angry door,
My efforts by its letter spurned,
Hard block on the cold floor?
T’was never such a block in nature,
Outside where no door slams shut
In the service of embittered tenure
In whose clutch all is slyly cut.
Outside, the open world shines.
Each upturned face the sun will warm,
And tearing rain the child refines,
‘a naked savage in a thunder storm.’
The new man chiseled into old,
Grown rough face with gentle care,
Listening man, leader time told,
Man’s unfair world made fair.
Nature desires the unskilled child,
Desires his green hand to tame,
There, in him, the worth of the wild,
Dressed, righted mind, with new name.