MY eyelids red and heavy arc <br />With bending o'er the smold'ring peat. <br />I know the Aeneid now by heart, <br />My Virgil read in cold and heat, <br />In loneliness and hunger smart. <br />And I know Homer, too, I ween, <br />As Munster poets know Ossian. <br /> <br />And I must walk this road that winds <br />Twixt bog and bog, while east there lies <br />A city with its men and books; <br />With treasures open to the wise, <br />Heart-words from equals, comrade-looks; <br />Down here they have but tale and song, <br />They talk Repeal the whole night long. <br /> <br />'You teach Greek verbs and Latin nouns,' <br />The dreamer of Young Ireland said, <br />'You do not hear the muffled call, <br />The sword being forged, the far-off tread <br />Of hosts to meet as Gael and Gall <br />What good to us your wisdom-store, <br />Your Latin verse, your Grecian lore?' <br />And what to me is Gael or Gall? <br />Less than the Latin or the Greek <br />I teach these by the dim rush-light <br />In smoky cabins night and week. <br />But what avail my teaching slight? <br />Years hence, in rustic speech, a phrase, <br />As in wild earth a Grecian vase!<br /><br />Padraic Colum<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-poor-scholar-of-the-forties/
