On The Singing Of “Gaudeamus Igitur”

Hark, how Youth, a scholar gowned, With the cap of Wisdom crowned, Carols like the reckless lark, Forgetful of the dark!

What is toil, oh, what are tears? Time turns pale when thus he hears Angelic insolence of sound Scorning the beaten ground.

In the face of Fate is flung This gage-gauntlet of the young-- Innocent brave challenge, hurled In the teeth of the world!

Graybeard Years file solemn past; Yet this rebel glee shall last Long as souls at morning rise, New larks, to the old skies.