To the Additional Examiner for 1875
How, like a spider,
She still spreads wider,
O’er bookwork, rider,
And problem too,
Her flimsy curtain
Of terms uncertain,
Till all seems dirt in
The marker’s view.
For if Cram were not,
Which markers spare not,
Wise men would care not
To pluck too soon,
Seeing all life’s season
Of budding reason
Finds good stiff work for a wooden spoon. Cram found no cover
Wherein to hover,
For still above her
Tait held his pen,
Which, onward creeping,
Might find her sleeping,
But left her weeping
O’er ruined men.
For, like a blister,
Mistake, Cram’s sister,
Would wring and twist her
In awkward ways,
Till all the knowledge
Acquired at College
Had passed from thought(49) in the last six days.