At the bottom of a stairwell in Wean Hall, Carnegie-Mellon’s Computer Science building:

130 My office lights are nothing like the sun
Which from my inner office I can’t see
It’s not Ra’s light by which my work is done
Instead, fluorescent gods shine down on me

It continued for an entire sonnet. The concluding couplet mourns the coming of Gates Hall and the demise of Wean. At the very end, in pale small type, it said 7284d24149ad7ee0aded5e57dce8213f. I wonder why.