From Alma Mater Vol. 2: The Northeast
Available Now for only 99 cents!
(Link Provided at End of Poem)
These Bright College Years are made from the bonds of a blue solidarity.
The friendships that much like our towers—stand strong through the turns.
Gating an unmatched urban beauty carried by our pristine name;
Our safe Haven of a college experience resided only by owners,
Guarded by loyal Bulldogs.
Is in our gusts of laughter; in the speed of our team rushing through Crimson—
Bypassing the impasse of blood’s course to sweat past the blocks and stay the course
to win the annual game.
When they ask you which school was left standing, with its valor and verve withstanding,
Proudly stand and like Handsome Dan:
From within & in
the stacks of our multi-storied libraries,
We are the enlightened minds that
even from our windowless tombs—brighten this world.
When providing a tale of a historic prominence in college culture,
Illustrate the clean finish of our University Art Gallery as the
first university art museum. When describing the collections of modern American art that cross the Indo-Pacific and blend with over 100,000 assorted works, don’t leave out our distinguished social clubs that discuss the arts like the Lizzie.
Yale’s story is one of tradition. It is told in the songs of the Whiffenpoofs on Mondays, when Yalies meet at Mory’s.
It is honor societies in an inclusive society, where being gay doesn’t warrant a secret society. At Yale, the victory over intolerance is celebrated in an annual Co-Op Dance:
Feel the draft of this beer relay where every background and color run together to further our tolerance as we make our rounds:
Though Bladderball is over, our bladders still answer the call:
We’ve housed many cups to swim in:
The Gimbel Cup where the highest GPA reigns,
In athletics and drinking where cups of forces have clashed—
Tyng & Tang.
Yalies toss worries aside like a Frisbee by the Quad leading to Spring Fling,
our main attraction with music and co-action:
Moon-bouncing until the light fades into the break of day—when we find contemplation at the library courtyard,
marking our time in this chance we’ve been given:
The pyramid of Yale that leads to the sun.
We’ve reached the top of the college chain and when only seconds remain,
Ready feet smash clay pipes beneath the sun-induced tears,
and thus shut