Like small bars of silver dancing, gliding in towards the shore,
Noiseless save for splash of oar.
Oh, distinctly I remember ’twas in bright and clear September
Soon after I had returned to this ancient seat of lore,
Vainly I had sought to borrow from my books surcease to sorrow,
Fearing, dreading that the harrow would pass over me once more,
Little hoped I for Testamur, dreading to be ploughed once more,
Ploughed perhaps for evermore.
So I pondered deeply thinking, fancy into fancy linking,
Balmy air of cool night drinking soothingly through every pore.