I hear those good night ladies much obliged because we're here
Afraid to go home in the with a good song ringing clear
Just tell them that fair Harvard old Nassau is shining bright
How can I bear to grand old rag we roll along good night!
The Translated Way
(Being a "lyric" translation of Heine's "Du Bist
Wie Eine Blume," as it is usually done.)
Thou art like to a Flower,
So pure and clean thou art;
I view thee and much Sadness
Steals to me in the Heart.
To me it seems my Hands I
Should now impose on your
Head, praying God to keep you
So fine and clean and pure.
"And Yet It Is A Gentle Art!"
(Parody is a genre frowned upon by your professors of literature… And yet it is a gentle art— "The Point of View" in May Scribner's.)
A sweet disorder in the verse
That never looks behind
Shall profit not who steals my purse,
Let joy be unconfined!
How vainly men themselves amaze!
The stars began to blink,
An art that there were few to praise,
Nor any drop to drink.
O sleep, it is a blessed thing
Which I must ne'er enjoy!
There never was a fairer spring
Than when I was a boy.