Central High School - Almanac Yearbook (Toledo, OH)

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The Blind Man's Bluff. LD HOMER sat in his rickety chair, And the Wind played tag with his unkempt hair, He pulled his clutors 'round his beggarly form If, perchance, with the holes he might keep himself warm, And he sang the Immortal Song. A The rain trickled down from his Grecian noseg His sandals leaked and cold were his toesg His gaping tunic his shins exposed. Now who would have seen him and ever supposed Him the Bard of the Immortal Song? Old Homer groaned, and he softly swore, And he rattled his little tin cup some more, And he sighed as he thought of a warm grate tire. He tuned the strings of his ancient lyre With accompaniment vile and a Voice that was dire He wailed, I am blind, but the man was a liar, And he sang his Immortal Song. Now, a spinster came by with a shopping bag, And he looked through his goggles and saw the hag. She slipped him a copper and turned to go. May the gods, said he, 'fon thee their blessings bestow, Fair youthful maid! U and she said, Good lan' How'd you know I am young, you poor old man, When you're blind ? Then he winked as he thought of a bluff: HI felt your sweet presence, and that was enough As I sang my Immortal Song.

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lust Some Rhymes, BY M. E. D. Whence. IS Q ' that sighs are waited F the gardens of the gods, Where grow the reddest roses In the land beyond the clouds, Their perfumes downward tending Are borne on seraph's wing And bear to lips of lovers The gifts the gods would sing. y EA eart, without you even life I Is rk, the day Most drearg since so Much of itself, its light, no longer linger near The spring, the birds, the trees, the flowers, The sun's warm beams? All these await but you, Dear Heart, you and And i - the dreams. Pourgnoi? UST cause 1 Tha s all there is to say, And things will ever take this turn When there's no other way. N a ng west wind a seed was borne In quiet bower, And there in the strange cold soil it lay Bereft by its truant lover. The sun-god radiant in wreaths of light, Shed beauty and warmth on the seed, When lo ! from the soil sprang a violet fair, The shy, blue-eyed maid of the mead.

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Said the maid, My good man, what you say is quite true You are worthy of help-here's a drachma for you. Now pray, while I stand here and wait for the car, Sing the typical tune of Zanzibar, Or whatever it is that you sing so well. So he opened his mouth with an awful yell And began his Immortal Song. Now, the crowd got thin, and the hour late, And his legs got cramped as alone he sate And sang his Immortal Song. So he shouldered the lyre and the rickety chair, And he called the dog with the curly hair. He groaned as he lifted his money box And exclaimed, By Zeus, here's a load for an ox! A pretty big lift for a man that is old. Now, confound them, why don't they pay me in gold For my grand, Immortal Song? Then he slopped along through the drizzling rain Till he came to his humble hut again. He wondered, as he lay alone, From whence his morning meal would comeg And he thought, Though my song shall immortal be, It can live on air-not so with me- I'm not an immortal song. WK