Castleton State College - Castletone Yearbook (Castleton, VT)

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VOYAGEUR I have set my ship for a distant isle, Across the emerald seas; The way is often hard and rough And misery pays the fees. But oh, it is a shining isle That beckons through the haze, That forms the far horizon line, Of blue and green and maize. And when, through tempests’ noise and din, I hear a call come clear, In joy, my ship will forward spring— In Death there is no fear. —Lillian Wimet, ’33 SNOW Ah! How gently the soft snow whispers At my window pane (As if someone outside Were kissing the glass). Can the snow love fields and trees That it kisses them, too— Kisses them gently And wraps them snugly With a warm white quilt? Can you hear it say, “Sleep now, darlings, Till summer comes again?” —Olav Taffs seventy-six

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HAPPINESS Happiness is made of little things; Gay feathers from a pheasant’s wings, Blackberries heaped up in a pail, Grey squirrel on the old fence rail, Moonlight on the trees at night, The sun’s soft, golden, mellow light, A gentle word dropped here and there To let an old friend know we care: Yes, Happiness is made of little things For him who works and prays and sings. —Frank Alex, ’37 A WORD Just a vibrant messenger Traveling on winged feet, Much as an arrow from a bow Toward a distant mark. Does it portend of holiness or joy, Do tears and sound of sorrow Follow in its wake ? Mark you well that flight And the occasion of its sending— For nations rise or fall, Hearts sing or break— At one short word. —Gladys Gage. seventy-five

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EXHILARANT Would some power within me rise To hoard the earth, and sea and skies On days like this, and hold them fast; Until, some day, when gloom is cast, I’d take them out again to see If these then looked the same to me. —Nathelia Sherman, 35 INTERLUDE “Swing low, sweet chariot, Cornin’ for to carry me home . . In slow and tortured rhythm The ancient backs Of old colored men Bent and straightened, Straightened and bent. Across the heavy hotness Of the southern fields The sublime ecstasy Of religious fervor Crept through the heat And grime of their toil .... “Swing low. sweet chariot Cornin ' for to carry me home . . . Lawrence L. Ward, ’37 seventy-seven