Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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20 The; Branksome; Slogan I Met Spring in the Woods I saw a woman walking in the day- light ' s afiterglow — Hler feet were shod with maple leaves, her hair was like the snow ; The flowers nodded as she passed along that scented wajs As ithe evening, with his depth of love, reached a welcome to the day. This woman passed me often as the shadows gathered low. And I fancied on her face a haunt- ing smile of mellowed woe; Meditating, she would linger in the musky, darkened glen. Then, elusive grace and mystic sweep, ishe was wafted on again. She was Springtime, and the san- dals that she wore upon her feet. Were but tiny buds of maples : green and gold like rip ' ning wheat; And she smiled to see the grayness of the Winter ' s frosty smile, Turn to dewdrops in the chalice of a springtime ' s blossom wild. Spring ' s a friend now, and no longer do I pass her ' neath the trees, She has made her home with lilacs, near some busy, ' buzzing bees ; She converses in a voice that lulls a hummingbird to rest, And she tends her flower children sleeping gently on her breast. WILMA BATE, Form V.

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The Branksome: Slogan 19 Catullus: No. 4. ' Phaselus ille, quern videtis, hospites. My ship, good friends to you declares That she of ships hath been most swift, Past any craft triumphant fares And flies by sail or oar throug-h rift Of foaming seas — through Adriatic ' s Engulfing billows, Cyclades Isles, And far-famed Rhodes, and grim Propontis, And the horror of the Black Sea ' s miles Of treacherous shore — o ' er every lea ! To ' think, she sighs, that long ago On Pontic ' s slopes a shapely tree I stood, and murmurs soft and low Came whispering through my rustling leaves. Amastris and Cytorus too My trusted friends have been, and breathes Amid the box-trees there some fev Of youth ' s proud memories, as with bow Fresh hewn I sailed in the shining dawn ; And thence through storm-tossed seas my prow Hath bravely borne my master on! To port or starboard, it mattered not To me how breezes blew, nor were My prayers ascending breathed to the god Of the shore when last I journeyed home. All this a tale of the greying past: In peace my veteran ship grows old, And dedicates herself at last To thee, O Castor, and to Pollux bold. CLARE BROWN, Form V (Douglas Clan).

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The: Branksomk Si ogan 21 English Poetry in the Great War Tell England, ye who pass this monument, We died for her and here we rest content. Tell England — Ernest Raymond. The World War had a great influence on English poetry. Many poets who might otherwise have died unknown, scaled the heights of fame through the medium of their war poetry. This poetry may, with a few exceptions, be divided into two classes. To the first class belong those poems whose authors were on active service. To the second class belong those poems whose authors were at home. One of the most outstanding poems of the first class is The Soldier, by Rupert Brooke. He had just enlisted in the Royal Naval Reserve and his poem shows that he had a premonition of his approaching death. If I should die, think only this of me. That there ' s some comer of a foreign field That is forever England. While his other poems are not unworthy of merit, this poem shows his genius. And think, this heart, all evil shed away A pulse in the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends ; and gentleness. In hearts at peace, under an English heaven. Of the second class is Mildred Huxley ' s poem, Subalterns. The speaker is represented as being an old English college who has seen her sons go to war with proud surrender and emphasizes the sacrifice that they have made. Yet here and there some graybeard breathed derision. Too much of luxury! too soft an age! Your careless Galahads will see no vision. Your knights will make no mark on honour ' s page. No mark? Go ask the broken fields of Flanders, Ask the great dead who watched in ancient Troy, Ask the old moon as ' round the earth she wanders. What of the boys who were my hope and joy?