Anna Head School - Nods and Becks Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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Moraiing §oeg Awake! 'I'lie joyous voice of Morn Rings sweeter than a silver horn. Awake! Arise I and view the earth In all her glory of new birth. Walk down the woodland paths with me Among the whispering pines, and see Such beauties at this morning hour. The coming of the sun will bring A mundane change to everything. There, swaying in her fern-grown bower Among the rocks, a fairy flower; And fluttering, when a breeze breathes by Like some bright, captive butterfly, Blossoms the mountain columbine. Her haven is the worshipped shrine Where comes the humming bird each day, To this sweet queen his love to pay. The dew, which gleams upon the grass, With jewels decks the feet that pass; Afar, there sounds a waterfall That rushes down its rocky wall In boiling foam and rainbow mist, By cool, sweet morning zephyrs kissed. Above yon ragged, snow-capped butte, Come strains of some wild piper’s flute.

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LITERATURE

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Who sings before those gates of gold. There bright Aurora will unfold The brilliant sunbeams, one by one. And loose the horses of the sun. The trail creeps on among the trees. The poet walking down it sees Shv stretches winding far ahead. Where the pines, more widely spread Reveal above, a rosy sky And pearl-winged clouds that seem to fly. But look! One beam of glittering gold. The treasures that such mornings hold Will vanish like a fairy gift; The sun is rising, bright and swift. Eleanor Burgess, ’ 6. (Awarded first price Nads and Reeks Literary Contest. 1936.) I know not if her voice be harsh or sweet, 1 cannot tell the color of her hair. But this I know, that where her idle feet 1 lave passed or lingered, there is magic there. I know not what it means when all my heart W ill thrill and pause at a familiar tone; I only know that when I steal apart A something flutters with me not my own. These days have webbed a soft enchantment close. And still as Mem’ry’s golden tendrils run. They weave the bonds that will not let us loose While someone smiles and speaks beneath the sun. Yet something calls and throbs and fears in me That when 1 wake, there is none such as she. (Awarded first price Nads and Reeks Literary Contest. ) Betty Ford, 'j6.