Read this poem and answer questions that follow:   Far far from gusty waves these children's faces.     Like rootless weeds, the hair torn around their pallor     The tall girl with her weighed-down head. The paper-seeming boy, with rat's eyes.     ............The stunted, unlucky heir of twisted bones, reciting a father's gnarled disease,     His lesson, from his desk. At the back of the dim class     One unnoted, sweet and young. His eyes live in a dream     Of squirrel's game, in tree room other than this.     On sour cream walls, donations, Shakespeare's head,     Cloudless at... Show more

Read this poem and answer questions that follow:

 

Far far from gusty waves these children's faces.    
Like rootless weeds, the hair torn around their pallor    
The tall girl with her weighed-down head. The paper-seeming boy, with rat's eyes.    

............The stunted, unlucky heir of twisted bones, reciting a father's gnarled disease,    
His lesson, from his desk. At the back of the dim class    
One unnoted, sweet and young. His eyes live in a dream    
Of squirrel's game, in tree room other than this.    

On sour cream walls, donations, Shakespeare's head,    
Cloudless at dawn, civilized dome riding all cities.    
Belled, flowery, Tyrolese valley. Open-handed map    
Awarding the world its world.    

And yet, for these    
Children, these windows, not this map, their world.    
Where all their future's painted with a fog,    
A narrow street sealed in with a lead sky    
Far far from rivers, capes, and stars of words.    

Surely, Shakespeare is wicked, the map a bad example,    
With ships and sun and love tempting them to steal—    
For lives that slyly turn in their cramped holes    
From fog to endless night?

Unless, governor, inspector, visitor,    
This map becomes their window and these windows    
That shut upon their lives like catacombs,    

Break O break open till they break the town    
And show the children to green fields, and make their world    
Run azure on gold sands, and let their tongues    
Run naked into books the white and green leaves open    
History theirs whose language is the sun.    

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