She skipped letters adroitly here and there as though she were traipsing over a field of daisies. I was breathless as I followed every syllable coming out of her mouth. I was invested in the plight of the peasants now. My teacher’s voice soared and dipped, wailed, whispered and cracked at strategic moments to squeeze out the maximum dramatic effect.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave, Awaits alike th’ inevitable hour:- The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
She had me by the heartstrings. After a subtle pause, she delivered the most famous lines of the poem that would echo through my future.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom’d caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Silence reigned as she paused to allow teen synapses to connect and for perception to happen. The words echoed to the deeper recesses of my mind and found residence there. I wonder if some hapless contender to the sleepyhead crown managed to win points from me by dozing off then. What a ride they would have missed! For me, it was the beginning of an important journey. In all my forays into this magical alternate world, nothing could quite equal the exhilaration of that ride. I felt the dirt on my shoes as I walked down a country road. I saw, I heard, I smelled. I got sucked into a vortex and landed in another place and time. But I did not only journey from my seat to a somber English countryside and from there to the depths of
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