In the sad November time, 
 When the leaf has left the lime, 
 And the Cam, with sludge and slime, 
 Plasters his ugly channel, 
 While, with sober step and slow, 
 Round about the marshes low, 
 Stiffening students stumping go 
 Shivering through their flannel.

 Then to me in doleful mood 
 Rises up a question rude, 
 Asking what sufficient good 
 Comes of this mode of living? 
 Moping on from day to day, 
 Grinding up what will not "pay," 
 Till the jaded brain gives way 
 Under its own misgiving.

 Why should wretched Man employ 
 Years which Nature meant for joy, 
 Striving vainly to destroy 
 Freedom of thought and feeling? 
 Still the injured powers remain 
 Endless stores of hopeless pain, 
 When at last the vanquished brain 
 Languishes past all healing.

 Where is then his wealth of mind -- 
 All the schemes that Hope designed? 
 Gone, like spring, to leave behind 
 Indolent melancholy. 
 Thus he ends his helpless days, 
 Vex?t with thoughts of former praise -- 
 Tell me, how are Wisdom?s ways 
 Better than senseless Folly? 

 Happier those whom trifles please, 
 Dreaming out a life of ease, 
 Sinking by unfelt degrees 
 Into annihilation. 
 Or the slave, to labour born, 
 Heedless of the freeman?s scorn, 
 Destined to be slowly worn 
 Down to the brute creation. 

 Thus a tempting spirit spoke, 
 As from troubled sleep I woke 
 To a morning thick with smoke, 
 Sunless and damp and chilly. 
 Then to sleep I turned once more, 
 Eyes inflamed and windpipe sore, 
 Dreaming dreams I dreamt before, 
 Only not quite so silly.

 In my dream methought I strayed 
 Where a learned-looking maid 
 Stores of flimsy goods displayed, 
 Articles not worth wearing. 
 "These," she said, with solemn air, 
 "Are the robes that sages wear, 
 Warranted, when kept with care, 
 Never to need repairing." 

 Then unnumbered witlings, caught 
 By her wiles, the trappings bought, 
 And by labour, not by thought, 
 Honour and fame were earning. 
 While the men of wiser mind 
 Passed for blind among the blind; 
 Pedants left them far behind 
 In the career of learning.

 "Those that fix their eager eyes 
 Ever on the nearest prize 
 Well may venture to despise 
 Loftier aspirations. 
 Pedantry is in demand! 
 Buy it up at second-hand, 
 Seek no more to understand 
 Profitless speculations."

 Thus the gaudy gowns were sold, 
 Cast off sloughs of pedants old; 
 Proudly marched the students bold 
 Through the domain of error, 
 Till their trappings, false though fair, 
 Mouldered off and left them bare, 
 Clustering close in blank despair, 
 Nakedness, cold, and terror. 

 Then, I said, "These haughty Schools 
 Boast that by their formal rules 
 They produce more learned fools 
 Than could be well expected. 
 Learned fools they are indeed, 
 Learned in the books they read; 
 Fools whene?er they come to need 
 Wisdom, too long neglected.

 "Oh! that men indeed were wise, 
 And would raise their purblind eyes 
 To the opening mysteries 
 Scattered around them ever. 
 Truth should spring from sterile ground, 
 Beauty beam from all around, 
 Right should then at last be found 
 Joining what none may sever."