Castleton State College - Castletone Yearbook (Castleton, VT)

Page 82 text:

SONG The river’s song flows ceaselessly, Carried by winds in accents low. It brought to me a melody Both strange and sweet which seemed to know Of life that runs its endless course In city streets, on hills afar, On surging seas beneath a star, Where time and space eternally Weave a magic of a symphony. Wherever you may care to turn There is the making of a song, Pray only that your heart will learn To pass the melody along. Blue distant hill; cloud marvel, too; On every side the word is clear. The songs of nature tell us here Is where life is! And may it be The music comes to you and me. —Frank R. Alex, ’37 MY LIFE My life is like the moon ' s rays, Of things that shine and urge me on, But when I reach for them As for the moon’s rays— My hand is empty—they are gone. My life is like the moon’s rays, Of things I do not understand, Fleet somethings-—glowing—fading And leaving me. then Returning to tempt my outstretched hand. —Greta Larrow, ’38 seventy-eight

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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

Page 83 text:

VERMONT With shrines your trail is bordered, I, a pilgrim, have my own— I pause and worship your beauty In my fastness, alone. —Elizabeth Leonard RAIN LONG WAITED FOR Sharp expectancy hung over the village. They waited. A streak of light, A sullen rumble, A torrent of sweet, cool rain. Farmer turns to farmer and smiles .... “Drought’s been broken.” —Alice Carpentier FINALITY Something there is so final About the closing of a door; The raising of a barrier There is no climbing o’er. Something there is so endless About all eternity That oftentime I wonder if You will ever return to me. —Ellen Stearns, ' 38 seventy-nine