The best poem on teaching

I was surprised to discover I hadn't posted this before. It is an old, old favourite, that I have used many times in my high school teaching, and even a few times here in China with young adults.

I recognised this weariness and despair in myself once again (I don't think I ever suffered it during my 'proper teaching' days in schools in England, but since coming to China it has been an almost constant companion) the other day as I drew near to the end of a particularly draining and dispiriting series of evening 'business English' classes I have been running for a small European IT company. At least there was no 'bell' to wait for, and, with the very last class of all (to which only 3 of the original 15 employees showed up), we reached a mutual agreement to wrap it up 45 minutes early.

(And oh, naughty, naughty, irritable, China-weary teacher that I am, I found myself discoursing on what most foreigners really think about Taiwan. Oh dear! In a university, that would probably have got me sacked. But I will - with any luck! - never be working for this company again anyway, so I really didn't give a toss.)

Anyway, the poem.....

Last Lesson of the Afternoon

When will the bell ring, and end this weariness?
How long have they tugged the leash, and strained apart,
My pack of unruly hounds: I cannot start
Them again on a quarry of knowledge they hate to hunt,
I can haul them and urge them no more.
No more can I endure to bear the brunt
Of the books that lie out on the desks: a full three score
Of several insults of blotted pages and scrawl
Of slovenly work that they have offered me.
I am sick, and tired more than any thrall
Upon the woodstacks working weariedly.

And shall I take
The last dear fuel and heap it on my soul
Till I rouse my will like a fire to consume
Their dross of indifference, and burn the scroll
Of their insults in punishment? - I will not!
I will not waste myself to embers for them,
Not all for them shall the fires of my life be hot,
For myself a heap of ashes of weariness, till sleep
Shall have raked the embers clear: I will keep
Some of my strength for myself, for if I should sell
It all for them, I should hate them -
- I will sit and wait for the bell.

D. H. Lawrence (1885-1930)