Anna Maria College - Pax Yearbook (Paxton, MA)

Page 122 text:

THE WORD THE SHALLOW WATER Empty And alone So alone, you wish you weren t Anymore. The warmth, the rest are everywhere And they are there too But they don't care that The water is quiet and pale So, I turn-to the current Away from the shore And stroke with the cold deep stream Because I am a swimmer L Cormier 68 TRINKETS . . . You may think you can pick me up and drop me to the ground like a child tired of his toys . . . but youall find it's not that way, not that way at all . . . once you have shattered my jewels and torn my dress of dreams you'll see . . . a plaything I'm not. The river is the journey of life and the rocks within are people worn smooth by experience .... A mellow wafer hung in black obscurity and I could hardly believe that I sitting on an orange crate in a dusty alley could be viewing the same wonder as a businessman in his suite in the cen- tral park apartments . . . while doors slammed, babies cried, shades flew up and garbage cans rattled. I sat serenely drinking the moonlight. M. H andlin, ,68

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w 'u BEAU SOIR When in the setting sun Every streamlet is gleaming, When a tremulous glow spreads o'er the fields of grain A behest to be glad, that seems from all things streaming Doth arise to my heart in pain. A behest to explore the utmost joy of being In this day of my youth, the while the efvening's fair, For we shall all depart, As goes yon water fleeing: That to the sea, But we-ah, where? Paul Bourget translated by Henry G. Chapman

Page 123 text:

Health obsessed people Do thirty push-ups nightly, Smoke two packs daily. J. Paradis, '63 It seems unfortunate that when a sunset fades its spirit cannot linger on Insert punch-card lives, past Change' Umniscient robot matches- M- J- Habef'-9U'0h, '67 Sacrament of love? J. Sullivan, '63 Could there but be a way of knowing What man might walk upon my dust someday, It would be easier then to death To give myself away. And could I but know, how in due time, A child upon my stone might climb I do not think that I would fear The eternal years of lying here. 'Tis not the coldness, nor the silence of the grave, But only from aloneness that Could I would myself to save. Living is but knowledge of another, well or slight, The nearness of a fellow man in darkness as in light. So could I would my bones would rest Below a city street, or perhaps within a lane Where lovers often meet. But always and forever 'neath the paths of human feet. L. M. Butcher, '69