Wakefield High School - Oracle Yearbook (Wakefield, MA)

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THE PINES Upon the hill across that field, Two lonely pind trees there, Are symbols of the hill ' s own quest — Two hands in sUent prayer. The trees are etched against the blue. They hold back Winter ' s rod; The roaring of the icy blast Brings answer straight from God. Alfred Dickhart, ' 31. GARDEN GOSSIP Across a lovely garden wall, There peeped two hollyhocks, so tall. They told of mystic flower lore. And what the future held in store. They talked of love, and eyes of blue And to Sweet William both were true. They had a rival. Columbine, Who kept a tryst in raiment fine. Their secrets then they ceased to tell, For when I came, I broke the spell! Lois Huff, ' 31. CHRISTMAS Now lights are glistening beauty. And shops are filled with toys; But Christ was born in a manger With a star for His candle tall; vi! ! While His bed that wondrous night Was the hay in the cattle ' s stall. Now carollers sing in the night-time. There ' s a tinkle of merry bells; But Christ heard only the angels. Far up in the heavenly sky. To baby ears it seemed Like some sweet lullaby. Sallie Parker, ' 32. THE LAST WHALING SHIP Anchored in firm cement she stands. The last old whaling ship. No more she ' ll visit foreign lands. She ' s taken her last trip. Her prow is headed seaward yet. Her sails blow in the breeze. For her sole mission she is set: — Chance visitors to please. Alice Clark, ' 32. KNOWLEDGE I ' d like to see the open world. To know what life would be; And have the robes of mystery twirled, And thrown aside for me. John Serrentino, ' 31. TO A GYPSY MAID Life to thee is very gay — Just a time to dance and play — Summer sunshine stains your face. Every movement one of grace, From your lips a tune is tilting. And I know your heart is lilting To be off! Whirling ' round a campfire bright, I have watched you dance at night To a music wild and sweet, Such a pair of twinkling feet, And I wished that I might, too. Be a gypsy maid like you — Ever free! Fair gypsy maid, dance away, For all too soon will come a day When lilting tunes are but a sigh Of summer days that hasten by, While neither music wild nor sweet Can stir your little twinkling feet Forever still ! Miriam G. MacTeague, ' 30. WINTER When the sun is slowly setting. And the sky is all aglow, When you hear the north winds sighing, And the trees blow to and fro, You will know that winter ' s coming. With its ice and frost and snow. When the days are growing longer, And the nights are very cold. When the winds are blowing stronger. Very harsh and very bold, You will know that winter ' s coming. With its ice and frost and snow. Phyllis Pottle, ' 33. SPRING How do I know that Spring has come? By the birds and the butterflies in the air. The things that grow in the cool, greenwood, The ferns and mosses and flowers rare; By the things that grow by the bubbling brook That flows through a leafy screen Of rushes and alders and cat-tails tall. And under drooping willows green. Eleanor Foster, ' 33. MY HOUSE O, to have a little house With Welcome by its door. And love and laughter, both within, Why, who could ask for more? A house that gives to all who pass, A kind and joyful smile. When it has gladdened one man ' s heart. My house is then worth while. Lois Huff, ' 31.

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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.

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THE ELM LAZY JIM CROW In winter when the air was bleak and chill, I walked afar in lonely, icy realm; And, solitary on a distant hill. There stood an aged, gaunt, and spectre elm. I stopped a moment there, and ere I left, I asked the patient elm so grey and old, Are you not frozen, of your leaves bereft? You surely cannot like this ice and cold? Oh, tall elm tree, so withered, gaunt and bare. Since summer ' s merry fete is long since o ' er. Are you not sad and lonely standing there? And autumn ' s glory, too, is now no more. Do you not wish the spring to send forth shoots To cover every still and naked bough? Is not the strength gone wholly from your roots? Are you not tired of blust ' ring winter now? A rustle of the wind, and then a creak, I strained my ears — it surely could not be — Yes, I did hear the elm in whisper speak. And this is what he softly said to me: Oh, mortal, would you not soon tired grow If all were songs and joy and laughter gay? I, too, must rest ' neath blankets soft of snow For winter is the night of springtime ' s day. Then, too, I must our Mother Nature aid By giving up my leaves for covers warm. But in the spring I ' ll surely be repaid By soft green garments, and the birds will come Beneath my leaves, for they ' ll find shelter there. Just as you mortals rest at close of day — So now I sleep all free from toil and care. I saw him nod — and softly stole away. Caroline Feindel, ' 31. MY MOTHER ' S EYES My mother ' s eyes are glowing brown, Quite beautiful to see; They ' re never clouded by a frown But smile quite happily. My mother ' s eyes know when I ' m blue. They watch me wistfully; They seem to say, What can we do To make you more carefree? My mother ' s eyes have watched o ' er me For many, many years; They ' ve guided me most tenderly Through all my joys and tears. Lyin ' on the ole levee Sun ' s as hot as it can be, Hear dat Ole Man Ribber ' s tune! Bo, dat watah sho can croon Gurgle, gurgle soft and low, Dreary, lazy-like and slow, Just like them ole Darky Blues Sambo sings at Mammy Lou ' s. Chilluns laughin ' at their play, Banjos strummin ' far away, Sure is low — it ' s gettin ' late; Catfish nibblin ' at the bait. Ah-h-h, I ' se got him — now I ' ll go Take him home to Ole Aunt Chloe. There she ' ll fry him crisp and brown Chloe ' s the finest cook in town. Huh? Me lazy? No, siree. Ah just loves this here levee. And dat Ole Man Ribber ' s song — But I ' se going now — So long! Stephen Rogers, ' 30. SUMMER When the breeze is soft and warm And flowers on the velvety lawn Bloom in soft warm colors clear. Then you know that Summer ' s here. • When the Sun shines warm and bright, And the birds sing in the morning light. When everything is bright and green Then you know that Summer ' s Queen. When the sky is clear and blue With the little clouds all sailing thro ugh And all the world is full of cheer. Then you know that Summer ' s here. Eleanor Foster, ' 33. THE MARINES AT BELLEAU WOOD Machine guns are mowing — Swift death they are sowing. Don ' t ask the soldier — He doesn ' t know why. Mad shells ricochetting Rent shrapnel is spraying Death on the soldier — But don ' t ask him why. His rifle is smoking — Gas shells — he is choking. Knowing only his orders — Objective — or die. To me my mother ' s eyes do seem To be my guiding star; Without their understanding beam I would have strayed afar. John Farrington, ' 31. The barrage is dying, Yet bullets are flying. But God ' s with our soldier — They all pass him by. Baldwin Tuttle, ' 30.