'T WAS midway in my Senior year, one night

I ground up Dante for Italian 3,

When sleep, the gentle remedy of grinds,

Fell on my lids and closed them to the light.

Then was a vision to my mind unrolled,

Such that the mere remembrance makes me chill,

As luckless Freshman domiciled in Thayer.

I thought I stood within a level yard,

Hemmed in by buildings, quite diverse in style,

Of which the worst was granite, unadorned,

Like ice-house on the margin of Fresh Pond.

Straight to me came an animal of prey,

Like to a cat, so noiseless was his tread,

While in his hand he held a paper large.

I fain had run, so savage seemed that beast,

But he approached more swift than I could flee,

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