Alieni Temporis Flores.

Tell me where, in what hidden way is
She, whose pencil entranced each mortal;
Seen no more at desk or on dais,
Head no more where the choice wits chortle;
Whither gone in the world now drear,
Leaving the "old familiar" portal?
But where are the books of yester-year?

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Where is the maid whose vocal charm
Might beckon an angel from the sky?
Vainly we hoped 'twas a false alarm
When she sang (by Tosti) a fond good-bye.
Say do we miss her presence here?
Ask of a club whose members sigh!
(But where are the books of yester-year?)

And all the fair that have fled these halls
For the precincts dark of an alien land;
The educational clarion calls.
They rise and flutter a farewell hand,
The educational clarion calls.
They rise and flutter a farewell hand,
And fly with never a sigh or tear.
Ah where are they gone, that joyful band?
But where are the books of yester-year?

Envoi.
They pass,—and elsewhere pursue their way;
Ask not of them the question here.
'Tis only the fallen few can say
The fate of the "books" of yester-year.

"E."