Katherine Delmar Burke School - Works and Days Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

Page 28 text:

Works Ctr Days I 'A' SEAL LULLABY Hush-a-bye seal, Sleep in the bay, Do not awaken 'Til the end of the day. MARISA TRAINA, PRIM. IV l0T Who fashions Waves? Teaches them to play, To dance and sing? Who tells them When 'Tis time to leap and roar, To dash upon a rocky shore- Or when to lie serenely still, At peace with all the world, A mirror for God's heavens? LOUISE HENLEY, AC. IV .LGT THANKFUL I'm thankful that I run and play. I'm thankful that I see. I'm thankful for my mouth and ears, For all that God gave me. LUCY HARRISON, PRIM. IV. 'JE' iii

Page 27 text:

Works Cv- Bays i' LAF CAD IO The sound of excitement Hlled the air as the ruddy faced men prepared the nets and baskets at Fisherman's Wharf, for today the fishing fleet was to sail for the first catch of the season. Lafcadio D'Annunzio, the best beloved of the young fishermen, stood by the door of his rude house, a few blocks away, bidding his wife Ilena goodbye. He was tall of stature and his usually gay, black eyes had a tinge of sadness in them. Don't worry about me, Ilena. I'l1 be all right. Really. Oh, but Lafcadio, look how black the clouds are and how murky and sullen the sea is. Although he knew the sea and sky were threatening in appearance, and a bad storm from the south was brewing, he feigned innocence of this knowledge. There, Ilena, let's forget about it, and remember, when I return I promise to go to Halfmoon Bay with you. Tenderly he kissed her and then strode quickly to the wharf, where he climbed into the hatch of the Golden City. The small crafts, with their gasoline engines sputtering, tugged vainly at their hawsers. Finally the word was given and they sailed, one by one, out of the harbor. No sooner were they beyond The Heads, than the storm struck. Tor- rential rain beat down against the craft as it pitched and rolled in the tempestuous sea. Look out! Here it comes . . . but before he could finish, Lafcadio was hurled unmercifully into the seething water. Frantically he groped about in the darkness and grasped at a piece of driftwood that lunged toward him from the battered boat. His bruised and slippery hands took hold of it and with a last spark of energy he clung to it. Frantically he held on, but his battered body could stand no more. His grip loosened and slowly he sank from sight. Early the next morning, as the sun was rising from behind the eastern hills, the fishing fleet came slowly into the bay. With heavy hearts the men fastened the hawsers and walked slowly to the fish exchange, for Lafcadio, their Lafcadio, had gone into the West, never to return again. ANITA RODIEK, Ac. IV. H-1:-' -'IG' ,fee QSX-

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Works 49' Days SM mv 'k SUNSET ON THE PACIFIC A cool, brisk, yet soft wind sweeping through the cypress trees and the rush of the Water are the only disturbances in the still afternoon air. The clear blue winter sky, with a few soft white clouds floating high and the green-brown hills across the water make an appropriate background for the farewell kiss of the setting sun. On the far-off horizon the flaming disk sinks lower and lower every second, until only a thin line of Vermilion remains. The green-brown hills change to a soft mauve, then to a deep purple and the filmy clouds grow coral, seeming to have a golden lining, the very heavens are in their greatest glory. All at once the horizon loses its spot of color with only a screen remaining behind it, like the reflection of a great fire. Slowly the hills become darker, the coral and gold of the clouds disappear, the sea changes to a deep ultra-marine and the salt tang in the air increases. Little twinkling lights appear and before a few minutes have elapsed, darkness envelopes the entire picture. By degrees more lights ap- pear until it seems as if man-made power were trying to obliterate the beauty of God's little crystals in His deep blue heaven. ELENA ROLANDI, Ac. IV. Q,. PANORAMA OF THE SEA A lonely, dejected figure . . . a flock of sea gulls soaring high . . . a rush of friendly wind . . . the incessant pounding, roaring of restless waves on the cold, hard, rocky coast . . . how close the pale blue sky seems . . . the salt spray falls as softly as dew . . . why is the Water so blue? . . . and yet . . . yonder it is green . . . a gull dives . . . the w-aves sparkle with a thousand tiny rainbows . . . why does the water foam? . . . when I reach to touch it, it fades away . . . queer . . . wild . . . savage . . . kind . . . the wind is rising . . . cold . . . hard . . . beating down on the small waves . . . it hurls foam and spray higher . . . higher . . . once small waves become huge, battling break- ers . . . how deafening they are . . . every sound is drowned by the booming, crash of water upon the rocks . . . the blue sky . . . grey now . . . swept clear and free of soft, elusive, cloud banks . . . rain . . . tide . . . changeless . . . time. ' X I fig' -dnt' SALLY STOKES TYLER, Ac. II. ,X fx if Jw QE 55-