A B Davis High School - Maroon and White Yearbook (Mount Vernon, NY)

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ai Love's a shimmering morning bubble Puffed all gay from pipe of moon: Spu11 aloft on breath of trouble- Burst in air-is gone-too soon! I could go on interminably glorifying Galswo'rthy's paradoxical poem Life, in which a conception of Life and Death is deftly presented: I could spend hours praising the charming comparison of the wind to a wandering gypsy in the poem Wind, and in the poem, To My Dog. written as now you pull my' sleeve g I could dwell long on the humanitarian's love for his dumb animal. However, my attempts to do justice to Mr. Galsworthy's works are far too insignificant: therefore. I leave you to discover for yourself its charms. It is not strange then that when .Iohn QYCAROON AND WHITE Galsworthy left this world a few months ago, England's king, Prime Minister Mac- Donald. and other notables from all parts of the world joined Mrs. Galsworthy in her grief. which they expressed by lengthy messages and by other means. Mr. Gals- worthy, however, was laid to rest with the same austerity which characterized his noble life. There were no flowers save a fitting laurel wreath. Though this gallant gentleman has left us, his gems of poetry will live on and continue to thrill and inspire hearts. And when Death calls across his shadowy fields- Dying, it CCouragej answers: I-Iere! I am not dead! GENEVIEVE PERRI, Class of 1933. QZWCX9 EVENING IN APRIL The long, cold fingers of the winter air, Which caught and clung to every twig and tree, And held enchained each little brooklet fair, Have slipped away and left all nature free. The brooklet now enriched by gentle rain Gurgles to the world aloud in glee, And gossips to the world in glad refrain. As it gambols to the open sea. From the dark deep of the placid cool Where the soft reeds gently bend and sway, Rise myriad sweet voices of the pool To greet the color of the dying day. And where the purple shadows softly creep Beneath the bud of crocus and of rose, Gems of crystal clearness from the deep Lightly on the velvet dark repose. Then over the peaceful world is gently thrown A richer canopy than any ancient earl's, And the moonlight Hlls the Helds just grown With a flood of lustrous, liquid pearls. Alice M errotu. Class of 1934. Page One Hundred and Thirty-seven

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MARGON AND WHITE his thoughts into a piece of artistry is very evident. In the poem, Time, Galsworthy offers a bit of interesting philosophy and leaves us with the two closing lines: Then what is man's so brittle life?- The buzzing of the flies that pass! An interesting and pleasant thought is offered in the poem, The Seeds of Light, in which sun beams are described and comL pared to- The little sunny smiles of God that glisten forth and die. Whoever thought of describing the moon at dawn? Rather a unique time to de- scribe the satellite, but the effect produced is quite lovely. The rhyming scheme is a new one to me: the last word of every line in one stanza rhymes. Every stanza is arranged according to this plan no mat- ter how many lines to a stanza. Serenity presents a number of word pictures that are very beautiful: the smiling sea , the bee , the dreamy fields . the flowers , the barques , that far row of trees , and the dreaming lovers . Outstanding is the following stanza: The barques drift slow, And, dreaming, melt away Where golden glow Consoles the death of day. The peacefulness of these lines imprints. through their very simplicity, a lingering image. But the author's real point in the poem is summed up in the final, brief line: Serenity is God! The device word used is extremely clever. for in contrast to the author's beautiful. descriptive passages, a simple little sentence ends the poem. I have always felt that poets seemed to be subject to strong moods, and Gals- worthy proves to be far from an excep- tion. After reading a number of his poems that portrayed a light, cheerful mood. I came upon a four-lined poem which bore all the earmarks of having been written in Page One Hundred and Thing-six an exceedingly fearful mood. The poem that I have in mind is Nightmare . The writer's fear of dropping out of the race is very apparent. The nervous question Qwas he the man who fell in the heat as out of the race he ran ?j seems to make the poem's title most fitting, for isn't it a nightmare to think of not being able to do what is nearest one's heart? In Galsworthy's case, of course, it is the fear of not being able to write. We glimpse Galsworthy from another angle through a bit of his art in Slum Cry , that is, his zeal for reform. Though there is no distinct rhyming scheme in the poem, the effect produced is at once over- powering. Strength or force is gained by the direct plea ful of the desolate J from a child of the slums, who though- Breath choked, dry-eyed- Death of me staring, must live her life for, --so was I born! -so shall -I die! Again this noble author utters a plea to bestow honor where it is due in On a Soldier's Funeral. A funeral that the private soldier tat whose death no drums are beat and no bells are rungl is not given. is described. The author contrasts this brilliant description by the simple but clear stanza: I-Ie lived his time And little day of silent tasks And silent duty-no one asks To know his name. It is very evident that the poem, Let , was prompted by the thoughts at seeing a sign, To Let , outside a little brick house. The description is effective and pleasing, and the rhyming plan, which is merely the rhyming of alternate lines, is unadorned to fit the peaceful simplicity of the atmosphere. In A Mood, which is in reality a description of love, devotion is character- ized as a light, airy, untouchable some- thing. The last stanza shows my point: NINETEEN THIRTYTHREE

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WAROON AND WHITE JUST TWENTY MINUTES It all comes back to me as I sit here looking at the great old clock standing near the east window. The clock is a mas- sive structure and well-built, as every- thing was built in those long gone days of stirring adventure--adventure such as we never have today. The old clock has an aperture in it. where the pendulum swings. large enough for a small child to enter with ease. The great time-piece ceased running manyyears ago, but it had long since proved its worth. It is an an- tique much sought after by collectors but is more priceless to our family than to any of them. I have often wondered why the clock was built so large. Perhaps it was because all furniture was constructed in such tremendous proportions in those days. However, it was very lucky for my ancestor that this was so. The story con- cerning it was told to me by my father. whose grandfather found the treasured document, patched and yellow with age, on which the tale was related inside the clock. The story centers about the Car- roll house in Virginia during the Revolu- tionary War. I have read the old manu- script so many times, each time with the same amount of interest. that the prac- tically illegible words come to me from memory. My father's great-grandfather is speaking to me. I can almost see him in the shadows surrounding the old clock. My young descendant, I have told this tale to each of my children, each in his turn. I was a young boy about seven years old. I lived alone with my mother, for my father was away fighting the British to save our country from tyranny. My father was a lieutenant under our most esteemed leader, George Washington, and I hardly ever saw him, for the war never reached our remote home. My dear mother and I were often very lonesome sitting in front of the open hearth. She sat and stared into the dancing flames for long periods of time. I knew she was thinking of father at those times, wonder- ing whether he was well, or whether he was sorely wounded and in need of her care. Page One Hundred and Thirty-eight One morning early in December we received word that my father was coming home that evening for a brief stop to see us. I-Ie was carrying important papers from Washington to General Morgan. I am proud to say that many times my father was the only one whom General Washington trusted to deliver dispatches. My mother forgot all her cares and sor- rows and didn't stop singing once except to speak to me. I was happy too. for my father told me such interesting stories when he was home. I kept asking her how long it would be before he would arrive, and she always answered me: 'Just a few hours more. Johnny. Won't daddy like this pie? It's his favor- ite, and he hasn't had much to eat in a long time.' At last there remained but two hours before dad was to come. My mother was looking gayer every minute. She removed her apron and told me that she was going to meet dad. I begged to be allowed to accompany her, but she wouldn't permit it, and told me that I must stay home to protect the house from the British. This made me feel quite important, and Ireadily agreed. Before she left me, she kissed me and told me to wash myself so as to look my best for daddy. I watched her as she rode away on old Whitefoot. and stayed at the window until she had disappeared from sight. Then I got out my slate and drew pictures to pass away the time. AII at once I heard horses galloping. The sound came nearer and nearer. I jumped up joyfully. My father must have ar- rived sooner than he had expected. I ran to the door and was about to shout out when the sight that struck my eyes made me speechless. Five 'redcoats' with an of- ficer at their head were rounding the bend in the road leading up to our house. I rushed back into the house to get my coat as soon as I had regained my senses. Father must be warned. He was carrying important papers and must not come home, but before I could get my coat, I heard the enemy at the door. I ran into the parlor and became almost sick with NINETEEN THIRTYfTl-IREE