To take degrees we must have equal powers;
The loss of these is as the loss of all.
It is the little rift within the lute,
That soon will leave the Girton lecturer mute;
And, slowly emptying, silence Newnham Hall.
The little rift in academic lute,
The speck of discontent in hard-earned fruit,
That, eating inwards, turns it into gall.
It is not worth the keeping; let it go:
But shall it? Answer fairly, answer no;