Robert Louis Stevenson: Collected Poems Edited, with an introduction and notes, by Janet Adam Smith |
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| V. | V
Poem for a Class Re-union
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 | Robert Louis Stevenson: Collected Poems |  |
V
Poem for a Class Re-union
Whether we like it, or don't,
There's a sort of a bond in the fact
That we all by one master were taught,
By one master were bullied and whackt.
And now all the more, when we see
Our class in so shrunken a state
And we, who were seventy-two,
Diminished to seven or eight.
There's a sort of a bond in the fact
That we all by one master were taught,
By one master were bullied and whackt.
And now all the more, when we see
Our class in so shrunken a state
And we, who were seventy-two,
Diminished to seven or eight.
One has been married; and one
Has taken to letters for bread,
Several are over the seas;
And some I imagine are dead.
And that is the reason, you see,
Why, as I have the honour to state,
We, who were seventy-two,
Are now only seven or eight.
Has taken to letters for bread,
Several are over the seas;
And some I imagine are dead.
And that is the reason, you see,
Why, as I have the honour to state,
We, who were seventy-two,
Are now only seven or eight.
One took to heretical views,
And one, they inform me, to drink;
Some construct fortunes in trade,
Some starve in professions, I think.
But one way or other alas!
Through the culpable action of Fate
We, who were seventy-two,
Are now shrunken to seven or eight.
And one, they inform me, to drink;
Some construct fortunes in trade,
Some starve in professions, I think.
334
Through the culpable action of Fate
We, who were seventy-two,
Are now shrunken to seven or eight.
So, whether we like it or not,
Let us own there's a bond in the past,
And, since we were playmates at school,
Continue good friends to the last.
The roll-book is closed in the room,
The clacken is gone with the slate,
We, who were seventy-two,
Are now only seven or eight.
Let us own there's a bond in the past,
And, since we were playmates at school,
Continue good friends to the last.
The roll-book is closed in the room,
The clacken is gone with the slate,
We, who were seventy-two,
Are now only seven or eight.
We shall never, our books on our back,
Trudge off in the morning again,
To the slide at the Janitor's door,
By the ambush of cads in the lane!
We shall never be sent for the tawse,
Nor lose places for coming too late;
We shall never be seventy-two,
Who now are but seven or eight!
Trudge off in the morning again,
To the slide at the Janitor's door,
By the ambush of cads in the lane!
We shall never be sent for the tawse,
Nor lose places for coming too late;
We shall never be seventy-two,
Who now are but seven or eight!
We shall never have peeries for luck,
We shall never be strapped by Maclean,
We shall never take Lothian down,
Nor ever be schoolboys again.
But still for the sake of the past,
For the love of the days of lang syne
The remnant of seventy-two
Shall rally together to dine.
We shall never be strapped by Maclean,
We shall never take Lothian down,
Nor ever be schoolboys again.
But still for the sake of the past,
For the love of the days of lang syne
The remnant of seventy-two
Shall rally together to dine.
| Robert Louis Stevenson: Collected Poems | |