Comrades, leave me here a little, on this cool November morn;
To reflect on Harvard's glory, that which was but new is shorn.
Tis the place, and all around it, as of old, the yard cops call.
Lampy's bells about the Gold Coast ringing over Randolph Hall.
Many a night I saw Westmorly, having left the Somerset.
Found myself locked out of Randolph, full of sleep and sore beset.
Then about the Coast I wandered, stopping all the dancing men.
Telling them of by-gone Harvard when the Bullfinch fought the Wren.
Then I dipped into the future, saw the Freshmen in the Yard
Saw the vision of the House Plan, culture hoist with its petard.
In the fall a deeper Crimson comes upon the Dunster dome
In the fall the younger Bullfinch builds himself another home.
In the fall a newer Russell struts its naked iron spans.
In the fall the President's fancy lightly turns to chapel plans
And I said, "Oh Mr. President, speak, and tell the truth to me
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CERCLE FRANCAIS PLAY TO BE GIVEN WEDNESDAY
