On the Singing of “Gaudeamus Igitur”

Hark, how Youth, a scholar gowned,
With the cap of Wisdom crowned,
Carols like the reckless lark,
Forgetful of the dark!

What is toil, oh, what are tears?
Time turns pale when thus he hears
Angelic insolence of sound
Scorning the beaten ground.

In the face of Fate is flung
This gage-gauntlet of the young--
Innocent brave challenge, hurled
In the teeth of the world!

Graybeard Years file solemn past;
Yet this rebel glee shall last
Long as souls at morning rise,
New larks, to the old skies.