"The Pembroke Seal on a Cold Night
Revolting curse it haunts me
On darkened nights like faerie fire
Torment stretches forth a welcome
Hand in gloom of friendship clothed
With numbing heat and searing cold
I receive its gentle touch
Whose strength can catch enfold entrap
Embrace me in the quiet noise
Release me to the dusky void
The deepest blackest clearest stillness.

I am cursed.

Blistered in this frigid grasp
Of sweeter poison I know naught
Save in dying cursed I would
A fiend on damsels red-lipped prey
That I not be always cursed
To prowl alone on starlit paths
And stand thrice cursed by thought word
Deed in the brightest midnight hour
Which calls to and begs her to give
Shelter from this lovers loveless curse."

Crumpled up into a ball of dew-sodden blue-black wrinkles, you find a sheet of notebook paper, upon which some love-kicked student has scrawled and abandoned his angsty masterpiece. Apparently he knew the old legend: if you walk over the Pembroke College Seal during your years at Brown, you will either become pregnant or impregnate someone else. If only he had known the true curse veiled by that urban legend.