Classic Poem

Children, the school that was built for your learning,
Built by the Borough, unlocked by the Mayor,
Soldiers have seized, and forbid your returning;
Mute hangs the bell now, the bugle rings there.

Rolled in their rugs, where you laboured they slumber,
Cook over camp-fires, and picnic outside,
Drill where you drilled, while you watch without number,
Hang on the railings and gaze open-eyed.

Adam and Eve back at Paradise entry
Peeped past the angel and longed with your looks:
Who could have thought we should see a real sentry —
Bayonet — rifle — keep you from your books?