The leaf of the maple is red again,
That flames in the Witch's Wood.
And there is a whisper in my brain,
A tingle in my blood.

My brothers are welcome to all my Greek,
Though it be not a scholar's store,
And, save for Horace, I care not a leek
If none know Latin more.

Saith the proverb to every dog his day,
So, while I have gullet and lungs,
I'll sing, may the devil carry away
The Greek and the Roman Tongues.

Logic how shall I understand,
Or text expound and declare,
If I kiss Mehitabel Chauncey's hand,
And see the sun in her hair.

To Grammar and Syntax I wish bad luck,
And to all on that path who plod.
I know a place where a man may pluck
Blue aster and goldenrod.