Lincoln High School - Quill Yearbook (Jersey City, NJ)

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Dusk In The Woodland O, I would wander in the woods at dusk With the wind caressing The star-gleams in my hair, And have the odor of balsam and pine Drug me as I walked, A lone traveler in a deserted world. Then as I grew weary I would throw myself down On the moss beneath some guardian tree And, listening to the music of the woodland, Fall dreamlessly to sleep. Marjorie Harris 659915 How Do You Do? I-Iow do you do, Miss Blank? That is the time-honored formula for acknowledging an introduction. I like to consider myself a socially correct person, so I too simper sweetly and say, How do you do, Miss Blank? Imagine what would happen if I really received an answer to this question or if I myself, attempted to answer it. There never is an answer, of course. At least I've never gotten one, nor should I expect one according to the conventions of society. I might just as well say, Abracadabra, Miss Blank, this at least is more pleasing to the ear than How do you do. And in addition, it would relieve me of that nagging feeling that I might sometime get an answer. Last night I gave way to an impulse. I doubt whether my victim will want to know me after this. But I am afraid I don't care. I've had the supreme joy of giving a full and impassioned reply to How do you do. First I said, I do as I please-when I'm able. Then I shifted abruptly and asked, How do I do what? Inspired as I was, I did not wait for an answer. Ignoring a flabbergasted look, I proceeded to give a detailed account of my operation, my diet, and my other hobbies, in short, I discussed myself thoroughly. It wasn't until I had finished that I regained some of the milk of human kindness. I escorted my guest to the sofa, brought her a glass of water and an aspirin, and drew the shades. Doubtlessly I shall go on saying How do you do, but within me it shall be Abracadabra -it is safer. 112

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Solilioquy On A Bank We stand on the bank of a pool of black waters, deep and unfathomable. A gold moon brightens the shimmering surface with weird rays-bright spots of our lives to come. Along the edge branches of weeping willows trail in the waters-symbols of our tears, the broken reeds of disappointment and regret. They cast shadows, the heartaches and the pains. Still there are golden rays that flicker through and wipe the tears away! The air about the pool is scented with flowersg some will live and blossom in beauty, and some will wither and die in despair. Across the meadows we hear hauntingly sweet music. It is a sound like a breeze across the waters carrying the tones of an orchestra. The night above is our only shelter, and the stars God's lantern to our stumbling feet. Gladys Crolbers CXEJQZB The Forest Trail O Restless Trail, stay awhile and speak with me- Tell me of the wonders that you see, Things your silent tongue could tell- If you would: Tell me of the huntsman, Who, with his hounds Baying at the scent of the fox, Wanders along thy breast. Tell me of the children, Who stay their dancing feet To gather their blossoms That bloom close beside you- As children nestle to their mother. Tell me of the boy and girl Who whispering shy words of love, Stroll along thy brink. And perhaps, darker things you've seen- The hunted criminal fleeing from the law. Or, mayhap, in the earlier days, An Indian massacre, How many secrets do you hold- Dark as well as fair- That mortal ear shall never hear? O Wanderer of the Woodland, stay. But I plead in vain- The Forest Trail winds on. Marjorie Harris 111

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The Gypsy Fortune-Teller Without her resplendent Home on wheels, Mirror-sided and brightly painted, Sits the Gypsy fortune-teller. Her brown face is wrinkled And her lusterless black eyes Peer from beneath her scarlet bangled shawl Thrown carelessly Over her greying strings of hair. Yellow-drest, and with sunken palm Outstretched At passers-by, Whinning thru toothless jaws, Cross my palm with silver, pretty Missf' Marjorie Harris CSQQI5 Farewell With eyes that are misty and with dry throats, we come to a time when we bid our last farewell to our Alma Mater. Here we have struggled and felt discouragementg here we have conquered and known triumph. Golden memories linger and episodes-brief flashes-make parting hard. Oh, we have a gay smile and have a terribly grown-up air about the whole affair, but underneath there is a tugging of the heart strings that will not be quieted. Separate paths we each must choose, and alone we start our trip into a relentless world. Kind to some and harsh to many, we'll not have the chance to dream our dreams undisturbed. For the last time we meet our friends under the clock and have a comradely chat in an agreeable group. Graduation Day, a day of gladness, we go to meet the world confident and unafraid! Now, with a gay wave of the hand and, a tremulous smile on the lips, we go, and the corridors echo softly after our dying footsteps, good bye, good bye! Gladys Crotbers 113 ... A Y