Dunce
Robert William Service 1874 – 1958
At school I never gained a prize,
Proving myself the model ass;
Yet how I watched the wistful eyes,
And cheered my mates who topped the class.
No envy in my heart I found,
Yet bone was worthier to own
Those precious books in vellum bound,
Than I, a dreamer and a drone.
No prize at school I ever gained
(Shirking my studies, I suppose):
Yes, I remember being caned
For lack of love of Latin prose.
For algebra I won no praise,
In grammar I was far from bright:
Yet, oh, how Poetry would raise
In me a rapture of delight!
I never gained a prize at school;
The dullard's cap adorned my head;
My masters wrote me down a fool,
And yet - I'm sorry they are dead.
I'd like to go to them and say:
"Yours is indeed a tricky trade.
My honoured classmates, where are they?
Yet I, the dunce, brave books have made."
Oh, I am old and worn and grey,
And maybe have not long to live;
Yet 'tis my hope at some Prize Day
At my old school the Head will give
A tome or two of mine to crown
Some pupil's well-deserved success -
Proving a scapegrace and a clown
May win at last to worthiness.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 03, 2023
- 1:06 min read
- 62 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABABCDCD EFEFGHGH IJIJKLKL KXKXMXMX |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 1,049 |
Words | 217 |
Stanzas | 4 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 8, 8, 8 |
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"Dunce" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 13 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/32090/dunce>.
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