The scholars scribble, heads bent low,
Frowns impressed upon their brows,
Invigilators stalk the halls,
The cold air penetrates the walls,
And Latin singing covers all.
Cold stone slabs and glass that's stained,
Cast iron bells with rust ingrained,
Steeple, altar, crypt and spire,
Cathedral seats await a choir,
The students dream of robes for hire.
Classical studies, Roman art,
Ancient Greece and bygone priests,
Columns, constructions, pots and plates,
Warriors, wars, poets and grapes,
And round its face the clock hand scrapes.
Through high glass windows the warm sun shines,
From up above the great bell chimes,
Pens are gently laid aside,
The students leave and crowd outside,
But in a corner, one lad cries.