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

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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-

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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

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Works 49' Days i' NIGHT There is a glamour walks abroad at night Aloof and strange, not evil and not good. It muffles common sounds in a deep hood Of living silence, tangible and bright. It cloaks the trees in misty armor white, Wrought by a spell in some old shadowy wood Whose secret aisles have stubbornly withstood The cruel curiosity of light. Though I should lose day,s beauties were I blind, Yet should I keep the night's sweet mystery. I should still hear the plain song of the- wind, And the unquiet tree's soft litany. And in the wild wastes of the sky I'd find The stars I knew, feeling them smile on me. JUSTINE MCCARTHY, Ac. IV. -4,- THE COMING OF THE ENTERPRISE The messenger ran swiftly down the street calling out the news that the Enterprise,' had just entered the harbor. After his task was finished he entered the town saloon to chat with his cronies. In the biggest home in town, a beautiful girl was repeating the tidings to herself. It had been so long and at last he was back to claim her as his bride. What matter the days of waiting. What matter the scarcity of letters. Muse on, lovely lady- be happy while you may. Sorrow is coming on swift feet-and the messen- ger sped on. In a little. shack bereft of comfort, lay a dying woman. Her wrinkled, pain-filled face lit up with a smile. She would see her son once more before she lifted the dark curtain and dropped it behind her forever. And the messenger sped on. A young mother looked tenderly down at her first born, sleeping in his cradle. She. awaited her young husband's return. How happy he would be. And the messenger sped on, little dreaming of the joy and sorrow he was bringing to others. LUCRETIA HOUGHTELING, Ac. II. K2 if i5 ff gif-1