Bar Harbor High School - Islander Yearbook (Bar Harbor, ME)

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. The Islander 31 Heart of A Moth As he looked with unseeing eye into the fire, fantastic flame-light spotted the shadow on his face in such a way that it made him appear to be grinning, fiendishly. In broad day, without this bizarre lighting, his expression would have been drawn and haggard, for he was a man with a problem. Andgas in days of yoreehis problem was a woman. A woman, despite the fact that he called her his gay night motlhlf' Indeed, they were very like, this woman and the mot . Ever iiitting through the night Ever drawn to gleaming light Ever beautiful. Yet he knew that he loved more than the moth. There was an intangible something that lingered in his consciousness. He had been groping as one blind to find expression for it- and not for once had it occurred to him that his seemingly mysterious something might be just her woman personality beneath the light exterior. Try as he might, he had been unable to capture this elusive creature. At first, he had been determined to win her by his own personality, but, he reflected, he had been too dull, too gross to attract a fanciful, delicate moth. He had turned to other men hoping to find that their experience would tell him what to dow-but these men had come in con- tact With only average women. They believed that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Accordingly, knowing no better way, he had absented himself, only to find it utterly distasteful to him-and, which was infinitely worse, that it had made N0 impression on her. Then, he had despaired. How could he accomplish what other men had failed to do? He was weary of the city that had shown him such ill-favor.. He would tell her good-bye. And so he was here-in her home-gazing into the fire- and seeking vainly to discover some means that he might have overlooked in his frantic effort to charm her Sud- denly he was conscious of her presence. Instinctively he- arose and piled logs on the fire, for the room was too dark for her. She craved light-and as a moth-expanded greatly in it. He heard a beautiful voice speaking to him. Oh! It's you, and you've come to tell me 'good-bye.' Why are you going? Perceiving that she was comfortable in her favorite chair, he sank back in his own. VVhat had possessed her to ask him that, of all questions? That she was aware of his love, he was convinced, for up to this time she had evaded

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The Islander 30 .O he - - coys he owned. While they were talking Pete Berwick came into: the store. H I suppose you two have met, remarked the store- keeper. Why,1yes, answered Charlie, we dined together yesterday. g 4R. A. H. '24 A Song of Praise Oh State of Maine, my rugged home Once more to be with thee, Once more within thy woods to roam In blest tranquility! To once more see the sun's red blaze Light up the evening sky, And hear the thrush his song of praise Lift up to God on high. 'T is vain! It may not ever be That in thy land I roam To wander by the restless sea, In Maine, my native home. H. DOW, '25 A Watch in the Night The sad world slept in the stillness, That follows a day of pain, Night fell on the quiet city, Peace covered the outer plain. Above, the shadowy mountains, Faint stars in the vigils shone, Below, in the darkened garden, A watch and a heart of stone. The night wind sighed in passing, Its sorrowful, lonely wayg Light mist arose to the herald, The day broke cool and grayg Soft crouched 'mid the branches, A bird in her little nest, Feeling her wee ones nestle Closely against her breast. -AL. JOHNSTON, '24

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32 any subject that might lead to it. And now out of clear sky had dropped this unexpected question. He was a little ccfinfiused. What should he tell her? Unconsciously he re- p 16 . To tell you that, would take too much of your time and would undoubtedly displease you. She mocked at him. So? And would you tell me, kind sir, how long the privilege has been yours to determine what would or would not displease me? aThen with one of the rapid transitions so characteristic of her, I wish that you would tell me just why you are going. He had a sudden idea. He would tell her in such a way that she would never forget. She had settled back in her chair prepared to listen. He summoned courage and began in a low voice. You insist that I tell you. I insist that you listen, and do not interrupt for I am going to tell you the story of a man's love-and its a story without a happy ending. Once upon a time there lived a man, alone and lonely. His heart was cold and expectant as a fire before it is lighted. For many years he had existed, cold and expectant, until one night, a beautiful night-moth appeared before him and dazzled him with her exquisite radiance. As a spark from a tinder starts a tiny glow in a fire, so her appearance ignited his cold and exp-ectant heart. The flame curled around his heart-strings and leaped so high that soon it was a mighty blaze, consuming his whole being, burning anyone who chanced to touch it. But even as a roaring fire dies if it is not fed, so the fire of love in the man's heart grew smaller and smaller. And the moth flew to the light, unheeeding. Then there was only a soft glowfand finally a tiny spark- for as dust thou art, to dust returneth, so the tiny spark became again a tiny spark. And the ashes of love grew cold and grey. But in the fire of wood the spark goes out and that is the one difference between it and the fire of love. The spark of love is eternal and ever ready to be fanned into a nighty blaze. I His voice halted there. He felt that he could say no more. She broke the silence with an involuntary whisper. How beautiful! I didn't know it could be like that. Ial believe the gay moth is weary of her heavy wings and wants to emergeaa woman. I wonder if that spark of love would burn them up? SYLVIA KURSON '23 i The Islander gm g gggg gg W