Bwog recently discovered the first (and, we think, better) draft of one of T. S. Eliot’s most enduring works. 

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread across MoHi,
Like a student passed out in their lecture room;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted classes,
The muttering of masses,
Of restless nights in rock-hard mattresses,
And sketchy dining halls with puzzling smells:
Halls that follow like a tedious argument
(Like Schermerhorn’s extent)
To lead you to an overwhelming question…
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

To Lerner 510 the Bwoggers go,
9 PM, with pitches in tow.

The city smoke that rubs its back upon those crystal walls
The city smog that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of Butler,
Lingered within the lungs of denizens,
Let fall upon its back the vapor that falls from Juuls,
Slipped by College Walk, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a pleasant Sunday night,
Curled once about Lerner, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be a time
For the city smoke that slides along the halls,
Rubbing its back upon those crystal walls,
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the Bwoggers that you meet;
There will be time for pitches and for grapes,
And time for all the days and nights of Bwog,
That shows them on the website we have shaped;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred earned derisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of late-night coffee.

To Lerner 510 the Bwoggers go,
9 PM, with pitches in tow.

So how will you presume? via Wikipedia