The professorial trees stand along the campus paths,

Or shade our windows, or arch over us in spring,

Vise, full-boughed, doctor-of-philosophy trees,

Master-of-science elms that know everything.

And here and there deans In maple, trustee oaks,

Chairmen and their departments in full leaf.

Our, being a New England college, the president

Is an elm, our tallest, of our timber chief.

Some of the trees are older than the professors,

And some professors deeper-rooted than tree.

When the wind blows - and how the wind blows here! -

It's that collegiate sound we hear in the breeze.

Lectures in green, conferences in red and gold -

We listen to tree-sound while time weaves.

Between them and among the we find our way,

Guided by leafy voices and the voice of leaves.