Golden as ever,The sunlight fallsJust as dancinglyDown old walls.Newts still drowseOn sun-warmed feel;Clambering rosesAre no less sweetThan ever they were,And breathlesslyThe slim new moonSteals up the shy.But graves are astirWith night-black wings,So watch for meThese lovely things.
—From Dartmouth Verse, 1930, copyrighted by the Arts.