'T WAS midway in my Senior year, one night
I ground up Dante for Italian 3,
When sleep, the gentle remedy of grinds,
Fell on my lids and closed them to the light.
Then was a vision to my mind unrolled,
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Such that the mere remembrance makes me chill,
As luckless Freshman domiciled in Thayer.
I thought I stood within a level yard,
Hemmed in by buildings, quite diverse in style,
Of which the worst was granite, unadorned,
Like ice-house on the margin of Fresh Pond.
Straight to me came an animal of prey,
Like to a cat, so noiseless was his tread,
While in his hand he held a paper large.
I fain had run, so savage seemed that beast,
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