eil’s mother sat in the corner of the small, stuffy study, her eyes swollen with tears. Mr. Perry sat rigidly at his desk.

The door opened and Neil walked in, still wearing his Puck costume, his eyes also red from crying. He looked toward his mother and started to speak, but his father quickly interrupted.

“Son, I am trying very hard to understand why you insist on defying us, but whatever the reason, I am not going to let you ruin your life. Tomorrow I am withdrawing you from Welton and enrolling you in Braden Military School. You are going to Harvard and you are going to be a doctor.”

Fresh tears welled in Neil’s bloodshot eyes. “Father,” he pleaded, “that’s ten more years. Don’t you see, that’s a lifetime!”

“You have opportunities I never dreamed of!” Mr. Perry shouted. “I won’t let you squander them.” He stalked out of the room.

Neil’s mother looked like she wanted to say something, but she remained silent and followed her husband out of the room.

Neil stood alone, completely drained of emotion, trying not to think about the future his father had just laid out for him.

Rather than walking directly back to Welton, the pledges of the Dead Poets Society decided to go to the cave. Todd, Meeks, Pitts, Charlie and Ginny, and Knox and Chris sat huddled around the blazing candle of the cave god for warmth. Charlie held a half-empty glass of wine, and the empty bottle sat on the ground nearby. The boys stared morosely into the flame, aware that it was a symbol of Neil, who had brought it to the cave.

“Knox,” Chris said. “I have to go home now. Chet might call.”

“It’s just for a little while,” Knox said, squeezing her hand. “You promised.”

“You’re so infuriating!” She half-smiled.

“Where’s Cameron?” Meeks asked.

Charlie took a sip of wine. “Who knows; who cares?”

Todd suddenly jumped up and pounded the walls with his fists. “Next time I see Neil’s father I’m gonna smash him. I don’t care what happens to me!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Pitts said.

Todd paced up and down the cave. Suddenly, Mr. Keating poked his head in, illuminated from behind by the moonlight.

“Mr. Keating!” the boys cried in surprise.

Charlie hid the bottle of wine and the glass. “I thought I’d find you here,” Keating said. “Now we mustn’t be glum. Neil wouldn’t want it that way.”

“Why don’t we have a meeting in his honor!” Charlie suggested. “Captain, will you lead it?” The other boys seconded the motion.

“Fellows, I don’t know …” Keating hesitated.

“Come on, Mr. Keating, please …” Meeks urged.

Keating looked around at the pleading faces. “Okay, but only a short one,” Keating relented. He thought for a moment, then began: “‘I went to the woods because I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life! To put to rout all that was not life. And not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.’” He paused. “From Mr. e.e. cummings:

“dive for dreams

or a slogan may topple you

(trees are their roots

and wind is wind)

trust your heart

if the seas catch fire

(and live by love

though the stars walk backward)

honour the past

but welcome the future

(and dance your death

away at this wedding)

never mind a world

with its villains or heroes

(for god likes girls

and tomorrow and the earth)”

Keating paused and looked around. “Now, who else wants to read?” No one spoke. “Come on boys, don’t be shy,” he urged.

“I have something,” Todd said.

“The thing you’ve been writing?” Charlie asked.

Todd nodded. “Yeah.”

The boys were really surprised that Todd had volunteered. He stepped forward and took some crumpled papers from his pocket, passing slips of paper to each of the others.

“Everybody read this between verses,” he said, holding up the slips of paper.

Todd opened his poem and read:

“We are dreaming of tomorrow, and tomorrow isn’t coming;

we are dreaming of a glory that we

don’t really want.

We are dreaming of a new day when the new day’s here already.

We are running from the battle when it’s one that must be

fought.”

Todd nodded. Everyone read, “And still we sleep.” Todd continued:

“We are listening for the calling but

never really heeding,

Hoping for the future when the future’s only plans.

Dreaming of the wisdom that we are

dodging daily,

Praying for a savior when salvation’s in our hands.

“And still we sleep.

“And still we sleep.

And still we pray.

And still we fear …”

He paused sadly, “‘And still we sleep.’” He folded up the poem. Everyone in the cave applauded.

“That was great!” Meeks cheered. Todd beamed, modestly taking in all the praise and the congratulatory slaps on the back. Keating smiled with great pride at his student’s enormous progress. He plucked a spherical icicle hanging from the roof of the cave and peered into it.

“I hold in my hand a crystal ball. In it I see great things for Todd Anderson,” he intoned. Todd faced Mr. Keating, then suddenly, powerfully, they hugged. When they drew apart, Keating turned to the others.

“And now,” Keating continued, “‘General William Booth Enters Into Heaven,’ by Vachel Lindsay. When I pause, you ask, ‘Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?’”

Keating recited: “‘Booth led boldly with his big bass drum.... ’” The others answered, “‘Are you washed in the blood of the lamb?’” Keating headed out of the cave, followed by the boys and girls, reciting poetry all the way home.

As his friends paid him homage in the cave, Neil sat alone in his darkened room at home, gazing out the window. The passion had dried up and left his body. All feeling was drained from his face and limbs. He believed he was a brittle empty shell that would soon be crushed by the weight of the falling snow.