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‘Twas the night before finals, and all through the school
Not a student was sleeping, using coffee for fuel.
“Where did Study Week go?” they all asked in frustration;
“It was lost to late nights, and to procrastination.”
The lights were all blazing with a sweet golden glow
Casting long, shining shadows out onto the snow.
As the flakes floated down students, sitting inside,
Looked on out to the quad and resignedly sighed.
When on the library lawn there arose such a clatter,
Students sprang from their desks to see what was the matter.
We all poured down the steps as a glow lit the air
With a twinkle and flash, old Matt Vassar was there!
Our phantasmal founder surveyed me and my peers,
Looking sharp, though he’d been dead one-thirty-one years.
With his cane in his hand and his winter coat flowing,
He could have been living...but, translucent and glowing.
He swept off his hat and proclaimed spry and fast,
“I am the ghost of our College’s past!
Every year I’m amazed by the head-games you play,
Come exam time you’re wrecks! In complete disarray!”
“Now physics! now, orgo! now, endless term writing!
On econ, on English, and drama reciting!
The exams and the papers and rewrites and edits!
That’ll teach you to overload six-point-five credits!”
“But this isn’t just grumbling; I’m here for a reason!
I’m a Dickensian rip-off for the holiday season!
In the story, however, the ghosts number three;
Due to cutbacks, the only ghost coming is me.”
He spun in a spiral, floating high from the ground
Adjusting his glasses and looking around.
He gave a stern look, that made our knees weak
and old Matthew Vassar then started to speak:
“As I mentioned,” he told us, unrolling a list,
“I’m the ghost of the past; and I’m just a bit pissed.
Professors and students moaning how Vassar has fallen,
You all think Cappy Hill is the next Josef Stalin!”
“Times have been worse, and we’ve survived them before
This whole school got started after the Civil War.
These days, women vote—you’ve got rights, you’re employed!
Way back when, you’d have corsets, hoop skirts and typhoid.”
“Of course, there were no men here back in my day
Though I can’t say much changed, since these days they’re all gay.
‘Wild parties’ at school meant good tea and tradition;
It was a time when ‘jägerbomb’ meant a German munition.”
“And students of color? It was a time of adversity;
This was a place for rich WASPs, not racial diversity.”
He looked out at the crowd and made a pained face;
“I guess we’re still working. But need-blind’s now in place!”
And then Matthew laughed as we stood there confused,
His sides gaily shaking and his pale face amused.
“Just a little droll humor to lighten your week;
In truth, I’m not cross—but you all looked so bleak!”
“Every year I observe as you work yourselves silly
So I thought I’d pop up and remind you that, really,
Not all learning takes place in a book or an essay
These four years should be more than a good GPA.”
Was he serious or joking? We hardly knew what to think.
“But go finish your finals!” he said with a wink,
And waved his grey hand in a dismissive gesture
“Then get the fuck off my campus...I’ll see you all next semester!”
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