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There is wind where the rose was,
Cold rain where sweet grass was,
And clouds like sheep
Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was.
Nought warm where your hand was,
Nought gold where your hair was,
But phantom, forlorn,
Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.
Cold wind where your voice was,
Tears, tears where my heart was,
And ever with me,
Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was.
November by Walter de la Mare
It was a great day today in school. We got taught the way I always stood up for.
On a desk in our classroom there were a few piles of sheet of papers full written of questions. The teachers put beforehand some books of reference at the back of the class. That were: grammar dictionary, atlas, encyclopadie and a novel.
Each child could take a sheet of paper from the dest. The task was to find the right answers. They were allowed to use the books and their common sence.
I can tell you the kids had been so diligent by doing the job. They were so lively. The two sessions were over so fast and some of the kids even skipped the breaks.
Afterwards I spoke to the teacher who was in duty for this kind of learning and told her how great I found those methode of instruction. She told me she was also pretty surprised how keen the children were.
Later in the morning all the school teachers and we the school assistance were in a conference where the headmistress insisted on inothteacher to involve the students to work with.
After the long summer break the teachers seem to be so energetecly. I hope it will remain so.