Tall windows in the classroom had no screens.
In spring and summer flung up high
They let the smell of new-cut grass come in —
No wall between us and outside.
Our weekend classes let out short
To world where flowers drooped their purple heads
And coeds in sun-dresses newly bought
Showed early blush of sun.
The hall was open with no doors
So Babcock’s setters had free range.
They came and sniffed us friendly at our desks.
They brought inside their memories
Of broomsage fields and quails and winter woods.
Their master smoked too much
And died in winter of that year.
We junior classmen did not know
But something told us there was loss,
For sadness seemed to hang around
And friendly setters came no more.
