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

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Works Cv- Days i' SHADOW ON THE SANDS 'Twas many, many years ago My grandmama told me, A gallant weathered sailing ship Set out upon the sea. A round full moon was in the sky, But clouds had gathered low, A maid stood on the silver sands And begged him not to go. The bells rang clear from out the sea, He waved a fond goodbye. He couldn't see the salty tear Nor hear her lonely sigh. 'Tis many moons full long agone The sea did take its toll Whilst now the bells from out the depths Still sing their dismal dole. The maid now lies in peaceful death Beneath a carven stone, No longer need she. watch the sea Forever all alone. But old 'uns say when winds do moan And waves are breaking high, A pale form flits across the sands, And softly does she sigh. DOROTHY WALKER, Ac. IV. ...QT THE END OF THE DAY It was sunset on the bay. The last golden hues of the sun were shining on the sails of a small boat. The boat left ripples behind it as it slipped into its dock. A large steamer rolled majestically out of the port, and glided along in the cool gray water. Then, like a great white ghost the fog enveloped the bay. Stars twinkled and the moon was the master of the night! PATRICIA LOWREY, INT. III. 'qi' f -as-' ,fi fix.

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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

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Works GDN 'Days 'k DARK SHIP ROM OUR small cottage by the sea, I often wander down from the cliffs where it is situated, to the very edge of one of the abyss that forms the hem on the tumbled skirt of the ocean. It is strangely restful to me to sit and feast my eyes on the deep green and shadows of the rocks, and the water dashing into the caves that it has worn itself during countless dashings. There is one cave in particular that holds a fascination for me. For tangled in its slimy black rocks are the gnarled remains of a ship's rigging. It serves as a veritable puzzle for me to muse on how and why these lone spars have drifted in here. Where were they severed? How did they happen to come loose, and how far did they drift before they found a final resting place here in my small obscure cave, where they remain to be dashed to pieces in years to come by the grinding force of the foam and waves? It makes one see perhaps, a dark night, heaving, billowing waves, the sky roaring and dashing down water and still more water to mix with the already terrifying supply surging over the decks of a small schooner, wallowing in the agonized, clutching grip of waves that howl with mad fury in their awful desire to swallow, to devour the trembling, defenseless little ship. The water seems to say, What are the feelings of this bundle of wood to me? What I want, I take. And the pleadings of the ship have no effect upon the greediness of the ocean. The gluttonous appetite of the water seems unending. Nothing, nothing can satisfy this fiendish, grasping, terrifying monster. The wind, brother of the sea and partner in her plan to devour the boat and thrust it down into the very depths of her maw, howls and plucks at the bones and sinews of the tiny boat. The sailors, too puny for the gulping waters to even heed, are rattled about like so many old dice, and when occasionally one rolls off the table. into the darkness, no one bothers to search for him. These futile pawns, thinking to ease the burden of the sea's pathetic quarry, cut off the rigging and spars, and cast them overboard into the roaring darkness. But even this is not enough. Surely and tenaciously the sea Wins her unequal struggle against this makeshift of man, and the mass of the boat sinks, drawn by the sucking, insistent vortex below it, carrying with it all evidence of its being, except the few spars cut off in a moment of despair. By now the ship has been long sunk and lies at the bottom of heavy waters. No sound disturbs it as it lies hidden in the silence of years. It has a beautiful resting place made more inspiring by the awful quiet and still- 4 txt Jef' QQ4