Classic Poem

October's leaves are sere and wan;
And Freshmen each succeeding year
Are, like the leaves, less verdant than
They were.

Time was, they paced the Broad or High
In cap and gown, with sober mien,
Their only wish to gratify
The Dean:

But now they seek the social glass,
The bonfire and the midnight feast:
And e'en describe their Tutor as
A Beast.

Once, when that Tutor strove to show
How (though it 's sometimes hard to see)
There is a difference 'twixt οΛ
And ╬╝╬À,

They gazed with simple wonder at
The treasures of his hoarded lore,
Nor hinted that they'd " heard all that
Before."

They wore a cap hind part before,
A gown of quaint domestic cut:
They served the general public for
A butt.

On them the casual jester tried
(Nor failed) his old ancestral jokes:
They nightly placed their boots outside
Their oaks.

No youths but recently from school
Could hope to ape the senior man:
But now — I state a general rule —
They can:

And it 's comparatively rare
For Fourth-year men, though old and grey,
To have as much of savoir faire
As they.

For still among the myriad throng
Who yearly tread Oxonia's stones,
Monotony extends her sway,
And Smith grows liker every day
To Jones.