Poetry
Geography
I TEACH them interesting things
Of where all goods are made, Of what their manufacture brings In profitable trade.
I teach them from a bloodless book To scan a bloodless chart, And pray one day their eyes may look To find the throbbing heart.
I teach that crumbling mountains built The spreading plains below ; But I can smell the river silt In lands I do not know.
Around the desks I fret and fume ; I set them routes to trace, But I can feel the deep-sea spume Lash fiercely at my face.
The pastures of the coastal belt, The soil the farmer tills Speak nothing of the glassy Scheldt, Toy villages, and mills.
I teach of rain that conies in June To slake the withered grass ; But I can hear the fresh monsoon Roar down, thin out, and pass.
Shall I so teach, the livelong day, In inches and degrees, And never try to sail away Beyond the charted seas ?
Nay : after dinner, lessons done, I have my fitful nap, And point my dream-boat to the sun Across a worn old map. G. D. MARTINEAU.
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