Wakefield High School - Oracle Yearbook (Wakefield, MA)

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MIRROR OF VENUS There ' s a mirror that shines with a light divine Beneath the clear blue sky, Where many a plighted maid doth pine For the beauty of Venus ' eye. The floating bubbles o ' erlap the stones, As the maidens watch and sigh. And the watery clearness, and the silvery tones Are as deep as heaven is high. Rose Assenza, ' 30. MEDICI VASE Lustrous grapes in clusters hanging. Tender, green their tendrils twining, Sturdy men their labor plying. Earthly cups with fruit are filling. The molded chalice, scalloped rim, Entwined with leaves of tender green. Is set upon a pedestal slim And all may gaze on its golden sheen. Juanita Hazelton, ' 30. THE BLESSED DAMOZEL The stars of heaven in her dusky hair. The lonely maiden looks with thoughtful eyes Upon the deeds of men who live below; For she is an immortal of the skies. Mary Bonney, ' 30. MINERVA Her potential scepter she holds in her hand. The symbol of vigor and might on the land. Then, too, her stern visage seems ordained to lead Expression of strength and the will to succeed. For down through the ages, has she played her part, Minerva, the Goddess of War and of Art. Elizabeth Ridlon, ' 30. PSYCHE True grace and beauty in Psyche did abound. From whose eyes the sparkle of love flashed ' round. A maiden with butterfly ' s wings she once was, And her love for Eros knew not one pause. Though Cupid caused her both torture and bliss. No virtues of life in her were amiss. Elizabeth V. Upham, ' 30. SAPPHO Sappho, you In days of Grecian grace Lilted lyrics to the ling ' ring roll Of a lyre. Sappho, yours is virgin mold of face Carved by Nature ' s ardent flaming soul And a lyre. Louise Sherman, ' 30. APOLLO AND THE MUSES Apollo, god of music and of song. Stood in the midst of beauteous maids, While all around in floating gowns so long. The Muses danced on rapturous days. Gladys Douglass, ' 30. THE FORGE OF VULCAN A huge hulk shadowed ' gainst the murky sky; The dull, red glow of greedy, licking flames; The sweating, straining ripple of bulging muscles; The panting, labored breath of toiling gods; The dumb, despairing search for precious respite; The measured monody of clanging anvils. John Roach, ' 30. LAOCOON O Son of Earth, why struggle on. When death ' s lean clutch is at your throat, For soon your manly strength is gone; Then pain of terror, madness racks your frame; And as life ' s breath succumbs to dark and whirling roar, You find that mortal will is dust to Godly claim. Merritt Stockbridge, ' 30. PENELOPE She ' s sitting on a block of stone Her body ' s in repose. But there, I wonder if it ' s known What in her mind arose. Her hair has many a silken curl. She has an aquiline nose. She is a stately Roman girl With thoughts of love — who knows? Miriam Schreider, ' 30. NIOBE ' S DAUGHTER What does this daughter of Niobe see As she goes forth to meet eternity? Her needless dying, loss, disgrace, and pain? But no, her mother ' s guilt is, as by rain. All washed away in understanding love — Her heart is filled with peace from Heaven above. With gentle, pure, and calm, resigned face, She knows death near — she ' s lost — yet won life ' s race! Elizabeth Dellinger, ' 30. DYING ALEXANDER His tangled ringlets, symbols of the might That he had known, fall free. A light! He raised his head, those eyes that knew no fear, Those fading eyes, above in wonder bent. His face aglow, while every firmament. Blazed forth in splendor for his funeral bier. Baldwin Tuttle, ' 30. CHINA Golden vase with jeweled face, Your slanting eyelids close. As moonbeams tied with silver lace, And perfumed shadows doze. Scented silks of peacock hue. Musk and dusk have breathed Mystery and a fragrance true With smoky shadows wreathed. Ruth O ' Connell, ' 31.

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SPRING SONG HAMLET O Mistress Spring, where can you be? We ' ve missed you for so long; We ' re waiting for your quiet step And yearning for your song! O luckless, hapless youth, why did The unrelenting fates so harass thee? Thy sole desire in life was but To learn the undisputed facts of sage. The world is wrapped in dreariness, The birds no longer cheer; We ' re waiting for your youthful touch To warm the coming year. So far off in the distance now, • Your graceful form I see; That I ' ll just drift to dreamer ' s land Until you waken me. Elizabeth Chartier, ' 32. MARCH WINDS Mad white caps whirl across the seas And ships fly onward with the breeze. The trees and bushes bend and sway While winds contend in mighty fray. The windows of our houses shake And tremble ' til it seems they ' ll break. The sun looks down upon the scene With laughing face and jolly mein. Our hats and papers blow about — That wind ' s a nuisance, there ' s no doubt. But still we have a merry day In March, so playful and so gay. Elizabeth Dellinger, ' 30. CLOUDS Here and there are fluffy clouds Floating over you, And they seem like pillows piled On a quilt of blue. Softly drifting o ' er the hills Watching sheep at play, Feathery and huge they roll Places angels pray. Often do their shapes they change Like a young child ' s face Sometimes looking like a lamb. Others, like some lace. Jean Butters, ' 31. FIFTY RINGS Pull fifty rings of the purest gold. The dearest rings that one can hold. Each ring fits on a lady ' s finger; Her hand among them loves to linger. What are these fifty rings so rare? Just tousled locks of baby ' s hair. Henrietta Bartnick, ' 33. And yet, when thou wert all prepared To follow up thy rare propensities, A burden wont to stagger men Was placed upon thy inefficient head. Richard Hayes, ' 30. LIFE (ModeUed on the Old English) Our life is a candle. The wick, our soul. Our hopes, the flame — Flickering up brightly, Then waning — while Slowly, but steadily Our life candle burns, Burns lower and lower. One last flare of hope — We dwell on the past For one fleet, fading moment And then — the flame goes out Eleanor Hayes, ' 31. JUNGLE SONG Savage, shrieking, wild. Untamed jungle child. Music ' s throbbing note Born in husky throat. Stamping golden feet Thrill to gloom-filled heat. Swaying, darkling girl. Jungle dancers swirl. Slinking, crawling shapes, Monstrous man-like apes. Moving to the beat Padded hairy feet. Native dancers croon, To the dusky moon, Till that haunting song Dies and fades ere long. Ruth O ' Connell, ' 31. NIGHT A thing of beauty is a winter ' s night When the moon above is shining bright. And kindly earth so far below Is covered with a sheet of snow. But better still, I like to see A summer moon so «ilvery, Sending down its glowing light. Upon a world of darkest night. Edward A. LeDuc, ' 33.

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OLD TREES Old trees, old trees, In your mystic gloom There ' s many a warrior laid, And many a nameless and lonely tomb Is sheltered beneath your shade. Old trees, old trees, without pomp or prayer We buried the brave and the true, We fired a volley and left them there To rest, old trees, with you. Old trees, old trees, we shall pass away Like the leaves you yearly shed, But you, lone sentinels, still must stay. Old trees, to guard our dead. Sigmund J. Szydlowski, ' 30. A STORM A strange uneasiness is in the air; The gentle wind of spring grows sharp and keen — All changed to gray, the sky just now so fair. The deep, deep blue of ocean wave, now green, A storm! On land, all rush to gain some shelter near; Away from storm and wind and rain they flee. On land, they think of those out there with fear; Out there, they watch the sky, the raging sea, A storm! The gale in all its fury strikes the earth; It shrieks, it howls, it seems to shake the sphere; The demons laugh and gloat in awful mirth. But yet, ' tis wonderful to see and hear A storm! Elizabeth Dellinger, ' 30. THE SONG OF THE RIVER ' Tis the summer and the weather ' s hot and dry, That ole river sings a song as he floats by; It ' s a plaintive, sobbing note so deep and low That only those black ni ggers ever know What the river sings. Now it ' s winter and the weather ' s cold and wet. And those muddy waters are complaining yet; And that river swells his breast and starts to moan- Oh, but now he sings an eerie, warning tone — How that river sings! It ' s the springtime now and we must stand and gasp For the river leaps forth, free from Winter ' s grasp And the water writhes and snaps as if to bite And its song is now a wail, a cry of might When the river sings. Oh, if I could copy down that music weird. Or if I could comprehend those tunes I ' ve heard, Why I ' d weave them into symphonies, that glow! But remember, only lazy darkies know What the river sings. Stephen Rogers, ' 30. ??r GRANDMA ' S TALES Of princes, kings and knights bo bold. Of ladies fair With powdered hair. Of these my grandma told. ■ ' Of fdiry folk whose laughter ran- ' ' ' Beneath each tree ' ' ' ' ' On every lea, - Of these my grandma sang. Of many tales both sad .and gay Adventures fast About the past. My grandma told each day. ' ' ' ' - ' ' ' ■ • ■■ Aj ' sil But now I have to sit and look At pictures gay, - ' ' ' ' •• Most every day, ' ' Within my story jbook. For grandma ekr has gone to be An angel white. Out of my sight. But still she watches me. I ' ll be with her again sometime And hear her tales Of fairy dales. Till I ' ll end my rhyme. Corrinne Doane, ' 31. NIGHT I saw a lake as I passed by. The lazy clouds high in the sky. The rosy sun far in the West, The purple shadows, heaven blest. The silvery lake, a deep ' ning blue. The shadows lengthening, darker hue. The distant mountains looming large, And on the lake a dusky barge. Gi.-. ■ Shadows, shadows, all around, 4,5 : o.r Stilly silence, all profound. . -li-v Kingly trees so large and towering. Tiny stumps, afraid and cowering, Length ' ning shadows, still they come. Warning all that day is done. The gentle breeze — a sweet regret. , Deeper shadows — deeper yet. Darkness now and day is done Now at last the night is come. , ' r i ' -: ' : .: : EleadiOEv Collins, ' 31. DREAMS AND REALITY - In dreams, we ride a reckless horse, O ' er rolling plains and hills. We race! We speed! We seldom pause Our goal in life is Thrills! But we cannot go on and on. Amid the world ' s great strife. Just doing everything for fun. Because we ' ll miss Real Life! ' ' • ' ' ■ ' Phyllis Reed, ' 31.