Around were the walls, gray and dingy, which every old school-sanctum hath,
With many a break on their surface, where grinned a wood-grating of lath.
A patch of thick plaster, just over the school-master's rickety chair,
Seemed threat'ningly o'er him suspended, like Damocles' sword, by a hair.
There were tracks on the desks where the knife-blades had wandered in
search of their prey;
Their tops were as duskily spattered as if they drank ink every day.
The square stove it puffed and it crackled, and broke out in red flaming
sores,
Till the great iron quadruped trembled like a dog fierce to rush
out-o'-doors.
White snowflakes looked in at the windows; the gale pressed its lips to the
cracks;
And the children's hot faces were streaming, the while they were freezing
their backs.