Growing Pains

Behold the undergraduate A most amusing fellow In all his jesting up-to-date His sense of humor is so great, His modern wit so mellow, That no quip serves him lest it be Rich in originality. Assured of overwhelming odds, Seizing the freshmen's persons, Indelibly he daubs these clods, To waken mirth in men and gods. (Saving a few McPhersons And other members of their race Who have of humor, not a trace.) The softier sort of joke that serves Dull age - the quaint or quizzical Gains his contempt, as it deserves; Mere wordy wit gets on his nerves; His jokes are ever physical, And richer qualities attain The more they hold of cosmic pain. To torture victims till they squeal Is mirthfully effectual; Humor lacks pith unless these feel Fierce torments: wit has no appeal That's solely intellectual. The quirk, the paradox outworn, The epigram but earn his scorn. No milder jest may give him joy Strange, adolescent creature, Suspended 'twixt the man and boy No rag's worth while lest it employ Some quaintly painful feature; But jokes, that moved the stone-age man To shrieks of mirth, he'll gladly plan. Behold the undergraduate And pity him a little, Remembering 'twas once our fate To linger in that loutish state That holds of grace no tittle, But comes alike to boy and pup The penalty of growing up.