In ye cloistered halls of learnèd youth
God's hand doth hold both dark and bitter truth
As anger churns and fists dost leave their mark-
Within those haven walls, shadows grow stark
Upon the rails of serpent iron snakes-
Alas, three steeds didst intertwine, forsooth!
In India, where loss and lament breaks,
Lo, two hundred souls hath left earthen roots
So prithee, hear the whispers of the third
Speak not of woe, yet math's embrace we learn
Kindling new fires when hearths of old we spurn
Of fate and kin, inheritance conferred
