Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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T O M O R R O W LILLIAN PIERSON Must the portals close behind me, Portals of ivy-clad walls? Must I forget my dreams and fancies Conceived within these halls? Dear haunts and faces I have loved, Are they truly past? I turn and face the portals-they are closed- And face the world at last. I stood alone on the top of the world, watching the glory of the sun- set and lost in reverie. Every bit of nature about me was of awmg beauty and I felt more intangibly alone than ever before in my life. The sun was setting not only on a beautiful world but on a beautiful chapter of my life. And as the sun was loath to go and lingered with a lalst gouging glance, so was I loath to leave the last page of my treasured c ap er. It was June but the month was banished before the thought of the occasion and the consequent feeling that this was the eve of a new year. I felt most poignantly a poet's words Old year, you must not go, So long as you have been with us Such joy as you have seen with us Old year, you shall not go. An emotion akin to despair yet, somehow, happiness was mine, and the pictures of golden days, school days, stalked before my eyes in panorama. Carefree hours among friends in the shelter of time-worn walls. How comforting that sensation of security. To grasp every golden opportunity, every road to knowledge so generously proffered was my duty: to love, and with service repay the service rendered me was my privilege: to call all this my high school days and those sheltering friendly walls my alma mater seemed impossible. Now the last flaming ray of the sun had slipped to rest behind the hills, and myriad stars, gleaming and inscrutable, littered the sky. They seemed to nod bright heads knowingly, and imply you think you are wise, but we have the secret of the infinite. Wise little stars-with the wisdom of immortality. They hinted tantalizingly of a waiting future. A sage has said One is never again quite so wise as upon leaving high school. Already this truth was creeping upon me and all my past fruitful days seemed but pleasant by-ways to the eternal road stretching before me--to the land of Promise. A dream rested lightly as a cloak upon my shoulders and I was peering back, not forward. There is sunlight on ivy-clad bricks, birds perched

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T O M O R R O W --. J. 4. wg. 4. Y4. .g, 4. 1444. tg, av. 4. A 4. f, 4.7.5. ii f7.An i E-N 1 fu K If 4 . - F, Hz, 5 as la- :ea ,Yew fr 4 1 N. vx f' fx t ff N f-ggi Q f-Q' If -Yit- curiously on window sills, and gay figures hurrying through the door- ways. Then stairs, to climb, weary, Worn, echoing stairs, salutations to call cheerily, rooms to enter and to tarry in. Sitting before me, my teacher with a friendly, encouraging smile. Questions asked and many pauses, then the peal of a bell and out I go, swept along in the throng. I must linger at the auditorium door. Gleaming rows of seats, silent sunbeams filtering through the curved dome and the flag suspended, swaying gently--dust and shadows. But ah-the legion of lights flash ong youthful groups file merrily into their places, auditorium today! Laughter, chatter, and then a firm, friendly hand asks silence. What follows? Music, a powerful voice, the lowered lights of a play, wild cheers and a waving of blue and white? How the spirit fills you, how good it is to-but wait-the dream has faded with the night, and I find myself again by the wayside, alone with the lost wind that wanders weeping, wailing through the trees. , Some one has awakened me-I am not alone, Youth stands beside me and in his outstretched hand he is offering the gift of Hope. How happily I recognize him and eagerly accept his gift. All the shadows are gone, and hand in hand with Youth, I step into the open road that leads to the land of Promise, with Yesterday a twilight memory and my face toward the glorious dawn of Tomorrow.