St Elizabeth High School - Elizabethan Yearbook (Oakland, CA)

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ELIZABETHAN NINETEEN-THIR We passed on through great marble halls, I wondered at their size and strength, Until at last we reached a door. 'Twas at the tenth haIl's utmost length. 'Twas large and solid, iron hinged, And bolt be-studded, built of oak, Dramatically it opened wide, When young Morpheus softly spoke. The word this time was Understanding , Through the door I gazed. Behold! 'Twas sweet Friendship in her might, Seated on a throne of gold! I gazed enraptured at the sight, My lips formed words her Grace to greet, But as I dropped on one bent knee, From me tell the cloak of sleep. My dream I ken, as well I might. The massive halls through which I passed, Are Faith wherein our Friendship lives, And without which no friends are fast. Charity and Understanding Are torches bright to light the way To that blest kingdom, great and fair, Where Friendship's dainty hand holds sway. Where Friendship rules in all her might These three words must present be. Understanding must be there, So with Faith and Charity. Cecil Norris 32 1 It's a good old world. This world of ours, With its sunset skies, With its summer showers, With its flowers to bloom, With its birds to sing, With its wintry gloom, With its buds of spring, With its goals to win, With its work to do, Don't weaken! This world Brings good to you. Loraine Faria, '3l.

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ELIZABETHAN NINETEEN-THIRTY spread wanted luxuries in their way, or power laid empires at their feet, they would not fare any better today for, in the land where they are living, virtue and true worth are the only things recognized and rewarded. Thus, this strongly meditative poem leads one from the contemplation of evening and the graves of the dead to a general reflection on the nature of human life and ambition, summarized in the famous lines, The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th' inevitable hour The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Neola Marie Bane '3l. 'A Friendship On one clear night in early summer, When rustling leaves had softly whispered Good night to the lonely breath of wind That strayed, and through the tree-tops wandered. When the moon like some great ship at sea, Rode bravely through the star-lit sky, The gleaming waters dark and still, Reflecting bright her silver eye, When great white owls like eerie shadows Floated easily through the air, And the bull-frogs from their marshy home Shattered the night with noisy blare' 1 l lay asleep among these wonders, Dreamed a dream beyond compare, Morpheus with his wand led way, I followed on I knew not where. It seems we crossed an azure stream ln silver boats, and landed dry On a massive wharf whence ramparts high Tower'd aloft toward the sky. The word easily now remember, By which we next admittance gained Into the court within the walls, lt was by Charity's great name.

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ELIZABETHAN NINETEEN-THIRTY John Keats, Romantic Poet JOHN KEATS was one of Britain's four great romantic poets of the early nineteenth century-Byron, Shelley, Burns, and Keats-whose ill-starred lives and early deaths cut off their genius and commanding influence in the very prime of hope and achievement. Keats' seems the saddest story of them all, because the others had at least some recognition of their literary ability and power: Byron and Burns both received generous awards of fame in their own time, and Shelley, too, knew the glory of having his work accepted by a critical public. But it was not until after Keats' death that the world realized what rare genius was embodied in his too few works. Even Leigh Hunt and Haydon, who were his most intimate friends, had no real conception of the freshness and originality of this poet whom they both greatly loved and admired. As for the rest of the world, it was at first utterly indifferent, and later contemptuous. The editors of two periodicals especially-the Quar- terly and Blackwood's Magazine -were particularly cruel in their criticism of Keats: not so much of his Poems and Endymion as they were of Keats personally, taunting him with his lowly birth, an act which was ungentlemanly and dishonorable in the extreme, even for the most offending critics of that day. This adverse criticism, instead of crushing the rising young poet, only served to goad him into the determination of producing poetry which should live forever. ln his third and last volume Keats accomplished his purpose and silenced unfriendly criticism. ln all of his works, Keats shows a profound love for beauty in all forms, and shows his belief that poetry exists for its own sake. It is not difficult to sketch Keats' brief life. The son of an hostler, he was born in the stable of the Swan and Hoop Inn, London, in l795. His noticeable love of beauty and devotion to poetry is therefore all the more remarkable in consideration of his humble origin. His parents both died before Keats' fif- teenth birthday, and he was taken out of school and bound as an apprentice to a surgeon at Edmonton. He served his apprenticeship for five years, and for two years longer he was surgeon's helper in various hospitals. Although skillful in this position, Keats disliked the work, always his thoughts were distracted by the facination of writing, and, at the age of twenty-two, he left this profession. In appearance Keats was very attractive: a delicate, refined face, sensitive features. He was slightly but compactly built, full of vitality and hope. ln fact, the general belief, that in his childhood Keats was a weak, puling boy, and was sickly in his youth, could hardly be more incorrect. lt was only after the severe cold that developed into consumption that Keats became morbid and despairing of good health. The later works of this poet all show this touch of morbid excess, and occasionally it gives his poetry a sort of false and hectic splendor. lt is a dying -25-