Wednesday Night on Campus
I rest my head upon my feathered pillow
And drift away on thoughts of Laurence Sterne:
The final lecture of the week shall billow
With thoughts a-plenty fit for my concern.
Then later, say, the seminar shall breach
The topic that my dreams perchance make clear
For nighttime’s slumber any kind may teach
To meet one’s studies with most rev’rent cheer.
But what is this?, the sound of breaking glass
And bursting chants disturb my solemn rest!
Such crowds of people, dressed as bold as brass
In bed sheet togas, stumbling four abrest!
For try as ev’ry honest scholar might
No sleep is to be had come Wednesday night.
When Autumn’s splendour blankets Yorkist earth
The grey of geese doth glow among the leaves
And second-years rejoice in new-rent mirth
In houses far removed from last year’s peeves.
Yea, so it is that all appear to settle,
The last few weeks have taken off the edge
Of Freshers’ Week, the need to prove one’s mettle
And throwing up, alone, in some dark hedge.
But rest ye not, I beg all you who read
For mid-term’s lull leaves little for the slow
You freshers shall learn the library’s aching greed
And third-years soon must bask in late-night glow.
Thus just as boozy haze and hols are banish’d
So you will find your free time too has vanish’d.