To the Editor of the Crimson:
At sixty-six I did not need your name
To tell that you'd already won to fame:
The careless, youthful twinkle in you eye
Remained as symbol for, and reason why.
Your mind was still as keen to seek and find
Those scraps of truth by others left behind. . .
Sufficed the hearing and the sight to know
That this great spirit's home lay here below.
This man amassed no venom as he grew
To pour upon a censure only true.
He did not live to hate and hate to live.
While wadding back the joy he well could give.
He quickly found his hold--more slowly learned
To scale the heights at first but ill-discerned;
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