by: Stephen Vincent Benét (1898-1943)

      he boat ploughed on. Now Alcatraz was past
      And all the grey waves flamed to red again
      At the dead sun's last glimmer. Far and vast
      The Sausalito lights burned suddenly
      In little dots and clumps, as if a pen
      Had scrawled vague lines of gold across the hills;
      The sky was like a cup some rare wine fills,
      And stars came as he watched
      — and he was free
      One splendid instant — back in the great room,
      Curled in a chair with all of them beside
      And the whole world a rush of happy voices,
      With laughter beating in a clamorous tide....
      Saw once again the heat of harvest fume
      Up to the empty sky in threads like glass,
      And ran, and was a part of what rejoices
      In thunderous nights of rain; lay in the grass
      Sun-baked and tired, looking through a maze
      Of tiny stems into a new green world;
      Once more knew eves of perfume, days ablaze
      With clear, dry heat on the brown, rolling fields;
      Shuddered with fearful ecstasy in bed
      Over a book of knights and bloody shields...
      The ship slowed, jarred and stopped. There, straight ahead,
      Were dock and fellows. Stumbling, he was whirled
      Out and away to meet them — and his back
      Slumped to the old half-cringe, his hands fell slack;
      A big boy's arm went round him — and a twist
      Sent shattering pain along his tortured wrist,
      As a voice cried, a bloated voice and fat,
      "Why it's Miss Nancy! Come along, you rat!"

"Going Back to School" is reprinted from Young Adventure. Stephen Vincent Benet. New York: Yale University Press, 1918.




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