Explore "The Tutor's Lament" by Norman Gale on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I refuse to find attractions / In the ancient Roman native; / I am sick to death of fractions, / And of verbs that take the dative: / It is mine to be recorder / Of a boy's congested brain, Sir, / With the pitch in perfect order / And the weather like champagne, Sir!
I -- the sport of conjugations -- / I am cooped up as a lodger / Where I serve out mental rations / To a proudly backward dodger. / While the two of us are dreaming / Of the canvas and the creases, / Close we sit together, scheming / How to pull an ode to pieces.