I cannot forgive you that you do not know,

Across the barrier desk and height of age,

The dark from which sometimes our words must go,

Yet shine translated on your scribbled page.

This is the class-room. Think a little now,

For God's sake and for your sake and for ours,

That even a teacher at forty wonders how

Alone he can outwit the press and powers

That, being a man, he lives in danger of

He thinks, WHAT IF? A thin blade down the heart;

And talks of Shakespeare's plays WHAT IF? O Love!

Slowly the lecture moves, without much art.

You stir, and look away. WHAT IF SHE DIES?

The game is to go on talking as before.

To go on talking. Then show no surprise

At seeing daylight on the c once more.

Students my care and love have moved among,

No magic making me one of you again -

Serious, gay, fresh-colored, strong and young -

No longer children, almost women and men -

No magic makes you hear, or understand.