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

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ir ljnnth 5 il-Imtage Q! xg AM eager for Life' f -5 Eager to grasp each passing hour, T Eager to taste each passing delight But each time, a hand and a voice 1- -by .1 Intercept me A tender, protecting han - A gentle V-o1ce, Wise with the Wisdom of Life Will come soon enough. Be happy And content While you can. When Life Will hold you in its grasp, it Will be Too late. II But what care I for caution and Wisid-om? What care I for restraining hands of Age? . I am young! All the earth is mine But Life. I am greedy and burn With a Lust for Life. I Will drink deep and Clear of the goblet-drink to the last Drop. . . . Bitter or s-Weet may it be. years I must on! On to the shining fortress! There lies -m1y precious heritage- My gift from the ages . . . Life! XX .. ,f . 1. . 1 ., Q . 3 -. 14? vimV.IIi,mvIn,,,m,,,,u.,.,,.,,,m,,,M, mmm, ' 1 N 1 , .1 . , . ' 11' .fs 1 12 1, ,,fY,,fm,f,,,.f:,,ff....7,Y,rmffz-.SrcfT:,.f.,,,.,.T. ,7rli.,:.T.m:.: X ,.1i. 11 - 1. X I ,. , , . , .... , . ,. A--. I 1 i A, . if , ,I 1 L, ,gf 5:1 ,Tiff-ff-,M ,.,,1,ffT-Alfie-::,1f:1fffitil?--1 -f W ' H -f V w mf L, - :w'1 1. 1 K 1, fr-..,-.-f-g-.-- W. Aww ,.-.4,.Y-,.v ,-..-,,,M,,,V,, 1 f gIf:,L' ' ' ,g lf .1 1, 11 4 'I ,I in-f','1 'L 1f'flfl'i'1 :r- fl'f'- M. mffr 'o - 1-- 1- V1 1 l l ' 5 L5 'Q Two 7zm1fZ1'c'cZ forty mc

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v .1-V ll llli Ely ll lg? lan ll ,Eli sl -fi fl v llg li .1 .ll EES ' ill ll 'l all ll: ll .,g- xi' A ill' :E-fl 5-az sal ill lslj W1 Ill l. ll .ll '1 ll? li lil .lj F. gl El iw lil lgyl .. l 5, Fifi 5, ?. fr I 1 l i., S31 ki.. Fill .N ,ll E. ll 1: iw w. ll 7 F 1 if it -A . Piikxy. ix QM, - ' e Q, A A streak of dirty orange, as a trolley clatters byfa shout of high, childish laughter-the honks and clangs and toots and whirs of the passing vehicles-even these are powerless against the ennui of the SQUHFG- From the doorway of Miss Ava's Tea Room one look-s directly across a triangular patch of greenish-gray grass, around which the.D?3I'k9d auto- mobiles seem to join hands in a game of Ring Around a ROSIC, and sighs as a footman, .in gilt and black livery opens the door of a low, long'l1m- ousine before the Copley-Plaza. The doors of the Plaza -stand out like a gilt and black brooch on the bo-som of a stout woman, newly-rich, and the gilded lamps flashing here and there are like rings worn to dazzle. her less fortunate friends. Cn one sid-e of the Plaza squats the dirty building o-f the S. S. Pierce Company fhuge gilt letter-its only Jewel-against red- brown stoneb. A few green trimmings, like lime ribbon. candy, are spilled here and there on the three-peaked roof. On the other side, meekly tucked in the backgr-ound beside the pompous Plaza, stands the.Hotel Werstmln- ster, another -dirty brown aifair, while acros-s from it Trinity Church opens its doors to city-weary people. One has to iind Trinity, it is not preten- tious. Dimly lovely, French Romanesque, it stands like an aged monk in brown cowl. Its gilt weather-vane and the squirrel-like figures that run up and down th-e sides of the spire attract one first. Allured by a red balloon and the policeman's whistle, one glances back in time to see a small girl scurry to safety on the steps of the library, balloon in hand. Behind her sits the bronze figure- of Science, contem- plating whether or not to hurl h-er black ball at a pas-sing automobile, while, on the other side, Art raised h-er eyes from her palette in startled expecta- tion. The library, itself, is rectangul.ar in shape, done in granite, dirty, like the face of a dust-stain-ed traveller. Cn a line with eight fudge-pan win- dows are three archways, and on each .side bla-ck lamp-s, guarded by tails like those of a horse-shoe crab, pointing upward-s, lead one into the hall of learning. Thirteen arche-d window-s parade above the entrance. The roof, on fir-st glance, suggests a Chinese pagoda with jade- trimmings, but on closer observation, it becomes a. garden, rich soil, tilled in even rows and bordered by flowers like the heads of little green-ho-od-ed nuns. Copley Square has its charms even :on a gray day. One feels a part of it. It has an every-day friendliness, stretching out its hands like a patient mother to the many small stre-ets that run to meet it. - - A V- WY- - -- ---- -- --W -Y.. . .vi ici w,,,,, .-,h,.,,4,-,ug-,f gk,-WMM,--Ngw Urxgrlmr V ,Y .u+-4-l2-- i im- ii-.-JT. E W3 Q fftfh l 'IiiI2i.Zll?L1Ij1ll'll-Z5 4,gg1.:gi1g.gpi.igT.g.gg:i '--- ff:4.f,:i1e1ffi?2.-f---i-- ----if-aswi-fee-1----L 1 J' .K muii, Qi , Ev,-,QQ.Qig,,I.iE11,f,fQ,QQ,Q.7,,fQ,,!,g.: ,..,m5Lg,iL,igg5n , . l ,fam 1 i if are-i ,I wo Izzmclrfyfi fo1'I,U-Iwo 'Q

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I W! ,.,l:.::-it f r 'ffwz-5?7?ii1,,,.C MVN QI N, I , 3 ',i'i:Li1.: ,.-'MITjl:l E I 5 ' 5 E-nu! 4 t,,,,-,..- I me, the 51 naignifiranf is ,I gl I x I l lr' Sl rl ' I 4 1 I 'A I pl I I 3 i----------i LOVE the city, I love the people there, with. the steady dropping li it of their feet like the pul.ses of three million .giants beating gil 4 - against the great stone pavements, with the miles upon miles I III 3 2 , of stranger faces, some so lonesome, others so friendly, some j ' Ill ! so young and others so hopelessly old and deJ ected. I love the if , people, not the buildings nor the streets, nor the sky above, but only the W1 Ely great, live soul of the c-ity itself, the soul that 1S never still, always so d1f- lil 1 IH ferent, -always so happy here, so sad and lonely there, alway-S 8-Onlflg OH and I on and -on, and reaching out for more and newer things like a child wearied ll, of its toys reaches out for still others. And it is because the people are the 353 A soul and pulse of the city that I l-ove it, for without them the city would be ro-bbed of its life, it would grow faint and die and there would be only a gh' skeleton of buildings left--nothing more. But as much as I love the c1ty 'lg I never can go there to find the peace and the balm for all the hurts and lg, 'il bruises of life, for the city is careless of man's inner self and of h1s feel- ings. It does not care, it is selfish. It only stares for one brief second Ml and then rushes on, crowding, pushing, noisy, and its voice seems to cry I ggi J hoarsely in my ears: What do I care I M It is not the city with its soul of mankind, but the greatness of nature Q52 that can soothe away the bruises and the hurts of life. And that is why ll when I am troubled, that I cli-mb alone into the hills and seek the tops of gg the mountains where the clouds hang 'below and the sun is close and warm, Qi ily why I seek the long, snowy stretches of field land and the graceful, white ' bl slopes of winter, the baby moss by the brooks and the friendly violets of 3, El springtime, the dusty road.s and the l-ocust filled hay Held-s of summer, and il the or-chards and frost-stained leaf paths of autumn time. And when I go ,IW I do not ask that someone go wfith me. I do not love people then., I only l want to be al-one. I want to fe-el the real might and power of nature, 1 l want to -sense the very insignificance and the littlen-ess of myself, to realize I, how short life really is and to feel the troubles th-at have bothered me, go I l sifting away into mere nothingness. And when they have gone, I love to . ' look up at the sky and to see how -blue it has grown, an-d I breathe deep and I I long until the v-ery thrill of life sets all myself a-tingle with the great joy gl I of being able to live and to be a part of such a wonderful thing as life is. if ' , Then. when all of me is buoyant with the gladness of living, I turn back to I 3 the city and to people, and I know that I can l-ove them all again, for after I all are we not.all'bound on the samle road and are we not each one of us I tr1v1al and insignificant when we -stand side by side with nature and back W - to back with life? 1' , f I , ,, of I' , ll 3 Q ' i W 'i'aA i I c, fxg'i3X J Multum! I a Two humlrccl forly-four if