Joined the Golf Club, and with others of an afternoon was seen
Vainly searching in the whins, or foozling on the putting-green;
Took a minor part in Readings; lifted up my voice and sang
At the Musical rehearsals, till the class-room rafters rang;
Wrote long poems for the Column; entered for the S. R. C,
And, if I remember rightly, was thrown out by twenty-three;
Ground a little for my classes, till the hour of nine or ten,
When I read a decent novel or went out to see some men.
So I reaped the large experience which has made me what I am,
Far removed from bejanthood as is St. Andrews from Siam.
But with age and with experience disenchantment comes to all,
Even pleasure on the keenest appetite at last will pall.
Had I now a hundred pounds, a hundred pounds would I bestow
To enjoy the loud solatium as I did three years ago,
When the songs were less familiar, less familiar too the pies,
And I did not mind receiving orange-peel between the eyes.
Yet, in spite of disenchantment, and in spite of finding out
There are some things in the world that I am hardly sure about,
Still sufficient of illusion and inexplicable grace
Hangs about the grey old town to make it a delightful place.