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Page 14 text:
To a Brook I Little brook a-jloiving, Over hill and dale, Under Spruce and Hemlock, Through a ivooded vale. Bubbling over pebbles, Miirin ' ring soft and loiv, Shim ' ring like a necklace In the twilight ' s soft ' ning glotv. II Little brooklet flouring. Sparkling to the sea. Busy, tiny river, Hoiv gay you seem to be. Llowing ever onivard, Onward through the night, Greeting luith a golden song The coming of the light. Elinor Skimmings High Eight. PEEPING AT NATURE It had been one of those glorious, sunny days that are plentiful in California. And now, as we look over the bay, we see the tall skyscrapers of San Francisco, glitter- ing like castles in the sun. We look toward the north- west through the Golden Gate, at the sparkling waters of the Pacific. The sun is just going down over the tinted purple hills, as we watch its shadows on the Pacific. The crimson clouds slowly darken and also become shadows in the sky. Our sight wanders to the moonlit ridges behind Ber- keley, where the trees, outlined against the sky, look like ghastly ghosts, and the clouds like galleons, with their sails to the wind. When we glance back over the quiet waters, the city is wrapped in sleep, with the moon a watchful guardian. Ted Dietrick, High Eight.
Page 13 text:
GLEANER ASSISTANTS Stanton Williams, Jane Dewell, Patricia McCaughey, Charlotte White, Marian Borden, Margery Churchill, William Hyde, Frances Kauffman, Robert Connell, Fred Scobey, Elizabeth Clark, Charles Pierson, Vyelaine Cunningham, Dorothy Cozens, Dorothy Heck, Patricia Bowman, Carolyn Don, Margaret Melhase, Marybelle Rocca, Dorothy Preston, Laurie Pilling, Jimmie Beall, Shirle Bass, George Agee, Evelyn Prochietto, Rosemary Ellis, Dorothy Aye, Bob White, Molly Moser, James Hull, Katherine Mead, Horace Pratt, Hinsdale Latour, Evelyn Haydon, Charles Potts, Bob Doane.
Page 15 text:
Origin of the Cactus Apollo, deep in brooding anger, crossed lois sacred skies. Straight Joe went, straigtjt as ttoe hlue-hlacti. raven flies; As t oe day went into tiuilight, tloe twiligtot into dar i He entered in t oe forest ivloere the trees load purple barJi. He tooli in all tloe grandeur ivitlo one deep and loving breath And tloe silence of tloe forest was still — quite still as death. Apollo wandered tJoroiigJo tloe icood; he cJoanced to see a stream And seated by it tvas a maiden clad in a moonbeam. Apollo teas encJoanted witJo loer beauty and loer grace — Her eyes were blue, her loair ivas broivn and deep cream was loer face. He seemed to ivant loer like a child — a toy he cannot reach 7 love yon. Oh! I love you. Come luith me I do beseech! Sloe heeded not his gentle words; sloe fled from him in haste. He followed loer; he wanted loer, but wings loer feet replaced. They ran and ran ' til desert tvastes did take tloe place of pine And lo! no longer luas tloe girl, nor of her was a sign; Tloe desert held naught on it but a cactus, straight and tall. And deep within its spiuey arms a blossom, to enthrall Tloe heart of one who load been foiled and lost his own true love; For the maiden load been changed by Diana far above. MY FOREST The pine trees in my forest divide their day and night into six periods. They are so vain and love clothes so much that they change gowns for each period! The first starts about five-thirty or six o ' clock in the morning, when the earliest early bird in sleepy twitters tells his family he must be up and hunting that worm. Then he bursts forth in a spontaneous song of joy, the forest alarm clock. Others join him and soon the forest is wide awake. The trees, being very modest, feel that now the birds are up, they must clothe themselves in some manner. After talking together in sleepy swishes each tree in my forest reaches up to the heavens and draws down and around her a filmy garment of gray — FOG. Now, at ten o ' clock my trees array themselves in mauve-blue and gray, a most charming gown for early morning — SKY and FOG. An apron, of course, is appropriate for noon and as my trees are very sensible each one wears a little blue apron with a yellow design — SKY and SUNSHINE. For six o ' clock dinner they don gowns of changeable silk, purple, pink and gold— SUNSET GLOWS. At half past seven my trees are dressed, ready and waiting. Each wears a formal of blue — TWILIGHT. Now eight o ' clock and my trees slip on their black evening wraps and leave — NIGHT. Laurie Pilling, Low Nine.
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