Boston University College of Practical Arts and Letters - Sivad Yearbook (Boston, MA)

Page 213 text:

IT IT I HTHESE THINGS I LOVE- Q HE stars appearing one by one, ' E . -: Q -. X .. Small lanterns in the skyg A long cool wind above a lane, I To lift and purifyg White petals on a blossoming tree, ' The gift of fragrant springsg So gently drifting to the earth As borne on fairy vvingsg Quick raindrops on the window pane, Like the sudden rush of feet Refechoing among the walls Of some nightfsilent streetg These things I love, but most of all A cottage with low eavesg - ' A gate that inward swings to Warmth, And Weary folk receives. ' THE OTHER ROAD YF mu o e o er wa aug th th y Q llll l I When all my heartls desire Bids me to follow, gay and free, The road to hills and briar. The pine cone's svveetg the sky, Clean blue Whiteftufted here and thereg A squirrel quirks his beckoning tail- And peace is in the air. 207

Page 212 text:

' K ' THE WINDS OF DAWN f I winds of dawn are very neat, Wi '- ' They creep so quietly ' Into your room to tidy things Before you stir to see. With little breezes for a broom They sweep each corner through, And whisking all around, they look For something more to do. They gently brushacross your face To puff all cares away, And dust among the cohwebbed thoughts As long as they dare stay. I For with the first gleams ofthe sun, The winds of dawn must go, And picking up their gray cloudfmops, Reveal the sunrise glow. a FAME IWW PICKED up Fame the other day, 11 . , K W pressed it. close to my heart, I kissed it twice for the joy it gave, Then to Love I let it 'part. Love held it loose in her little hand, She raised it high over her head, She tossed it swift in the pit of Time- I And I saw that my Fame was dead. 206

Page 214 text:

x- 4. l -1- - V is mi The windfsongs of the starlike firs, A robin's tune of glee, The friendly brookls confiding voice, Call irresistibly. ' Follow I would the sunfbright road That leads to heartls desire, Yet somehow, Duty, pointing far, Shows new dreams to acquire. HILLTOPS AND GREEN VALLEYS E might have described himself as a philosopher disguised as an idler. He 9 might have smiled whimsically and said that he was just anybody, taking a day off. He was, perhaps, only a L'Merry Andrewn into whose ear spring ff -T4 -' - 2 -f had piped a note or two, and he was off whistling a tune to his own thoughts which were of hilltops and green valleys. Whoever he was, to all appearances he was an idler walking the highway with his back to the town. So leisurely was his gait that the chimneys and steeples only slowly receded behind him. Had he chanced to turn, hesitating, the lure of the city might still have ensnared him, for a veritable Circe has her kingdom in the heart of a city, and her enchantments are often lifelong. Perhaps the stroller on the highway had already broken some chains of the enchantress. Certainly the philosopher had doffed his cap to the Circe of the city, and was still listening to the tune spring lightly played in his ear: A When Time lets slip ci little perfect liowr, Take it, for it will not come againfl E 208