Awash the world in wisps of rain and gray

wet pavement, green and greener trees whose leaves

so lushly let their trickling answers fall

on empty streets, a hush of gauzy spring,

withheld breath breathed at last, a dénouement

of borrowed books not yet returned and beds

alone to yearn the quiet night along,

unbidden kisses and farewells, goodbye,

a host of vacant buildings gape and gaze

and sigh with barren rooms abruptly dark

so blue and green and grayer sky is seen

in window panes, the hours in silence pass

without the bells, and here and here and here am I.

Luke’s misty, melancholy love of springtime Yale often suffers from finals-induced amnesia. Please forward all treatment suggestions to

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