Adamson High School - Oak Yearbook (Dallas, TX), Class of 1943, Page 28 of 150

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.itallafi This is my city, Standing where the high plains meet the low farmlands, Standing as a "no man's land" between the three o'clock hurly-burly of Chicago And the three o'clock emptiness of San Antonio, But she holds her head up proudly, For she is a queen crowned with myriad lights And myriad stars. She is a debutante whose coming-out party ls still a topic of American conversation. True, she is a city of white towers, but Her feet are firmly planted in the warm, brown earth, And you can walk her streets to their limits and say, "Now this was an independent town once, This was Cedar Springs, or Three Forks or Hord's Ridge." West of the Trinity the prairie begins, Just little patches of mesquite at first And then the plains alone, But here on the west bank there are oak trees, Here the soil is fertile and birds sing in this shade. Among these little hills which Fourier never saw A people came to live, from Paris and Orleans and Carcassonne, And still you find their names on rural mail boxes, And still their children build upon this land. Perhaps that wailing wind is not a wind, But the singing and the sighing of Louise Dussau, Who was woo'd with the aid of an English-French dictionary. What about the roily old river, the muddy Trinity? ln late summer there are dry cracks gaping at her banks, But in the spring she overflows those banks And goes travelling outward to the restraining levees, Oh, you can't say she's an ugly river, The bridges and viaducts save her from that. You should drive from the west into my city On a misty winter day when the viaduct lights Reach out and touch each other in the gloom, And the clouds reflect the colored beacons of town. When the Sally Haynes floated up our river There were only bonfires and small groups of people to welcome her, And the steamboat's crew could hear but voices Calling out from the bank. Our river is the same old unpredictable river today, The willows along her banks still turn pink then green In the spring And the sun still shines down on kinky, black heads As darky families fish in the muddy waters. There upon the courthouse steps the old men sit, Here upon the lawn John Neely Bryan's cabin Where Margaret Beeman and her husband made their home, And on these foundations was built this city. Blithe Pegasus a glittering landmark is, Ever pacing the skies above us, General Lee and Traveller charge on despite defeat and desolation, Brave men and true stand here a goodly company, Travis, Houston, Crockett, Austin, Bowie, standing in a row Looking down on newer times and newer wars and Newer generations, Hostess to a million guests each year my lady is, Always she has a bright smile and warm hand- clasp for those, But as necessity arises, she arises, too, And with the wisdom of Athena, the courage of St. .loan and The fire of Sif, plunges into battle. She is as beautiful carrying a flag as a gem- encrusted scepter, And she has flown a multitude of flags in her day, Even as other cities of Texas have. Today patriarchal fathers of Dallas sit along with their great-grandchildren, "Why, I remember when I lived near here as a b0Y: Back in '57 it was, and buffalo hides were still being sold on Main Street." But now, what about now? This century flower has bloomed, Dallas is no longer a child or a gangling half- grown school girl, She is a woman of poise and grace that comes only with years, She carries her dignity well, but in Spring she laughs And twines redbuds in her golden hair. Betty Glaire f7Gng.

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