Charlotte High School - Witan Yearbook (Rochester, NY)

Page 30 text:

THE W1TAN NORTH SEA LURE I do not long for a life of ease, With a book and an easy-chair On a well-kept lawn, with a gentle breeze Fanning my graying brown hair. I do not wish for a rich-man’s place, With its cares and troubles and bores; But I long for a ship that could set the pace Ahead of the gale that roars. Then I’d head for the north, where the sea is blue, And the ice-floes grumble anil groan, Where the albatross wheels, when the day is thru, And the chill biting ice-winds moan. For pleasure I seek, in the northern seas. Where a man is a man thru and thru, Where he’s hale and strong foi a hearty song And the blood in his veins runs true. And there I'll be gay and willing to die, When this last wish is fulfilled; And I’ll seek my rest, for I'll know that the best Has been given, when my life is stilled. Harold C. Snyder TIS SPRING Hark! the birds sing, Among the blossoms gay, Just a sweet, low hymn At the close of day. Now day is done, Thru the woodlands ring The cries of forest brothers, “ 'Tis spring, yes, ’tis spring! Nellie Weeks. 28

Page 29 text:

THE WIT A N THE WILL OF THE CLASS OF 1926 They say it has come to pass, That ev’ry graduating class Possessed of a ouite sane mind Must make a Will and leave behind To class or teacher or to student Useful gifts both wise and pi udent. The June class nineteen twenty-six, Appoints Miss Doehler executrix; Since she starves him, wo believr To her thin dog some bones we'll leave. To Mr. Bird, for all his life. We leave a private pocket-knife, To magnetize or cut candle-wax And help expound all helpful facts. And to Miss Goff, to ease her fears, Assurance, thru the coming yeais, That she need never make the plea A plaintive sound “Do all agree? We dumbly give agreement now To what, and where, ami when, and how. To our fresh friend, John Donoghue, A self-silencer, some tape and glue, With instructions for the use of same. Curling iions, with fancy name, We leave Gale Evarts, just in case One still could recognize his face Should those ripples leave his hair, Now permanent and debonair. Konath's suspenders we donate (Without his knowledge of their fate) To future cheer-leaders, with the hope They’ll like them more th:n belts or rope. Coach Chamberlain, excuse pads pink; He’s tired of using blue, we think. Pat Wharity, the right to doze, Sleep, (or some method of repose) Thru English, French or History And his fifth term of Geometry. To Norman Scheer we leave the same, For his classes vary hut in name. Now all regrets are truly ours, We can leave nothing to Peg Pow’rs; She takes what she wants, none doubt it, With permission, or without it. There’s another reason, sad to say, We have no more to give away. Testator: Margery Wrattcn. Witnesses: Herbert Snelgrove, President Luis Wegman, Secretary 27

Page 31 text:

THE W 1 T A N DEAD-LINE Twas the night before the dead-line, and all through the place Every in-mate was running as if in a race, For the Witan was forming, and had to be made Before the last ray of the daylight should fade. Miss Sharer was panting like a dog held in leash. She had to—the finish was just out of reach. Our Baxter was fuming o’er some poor writer's junk; Lyman was wailing that the paper would flunk; Charlton was swimming in a maze of white sheets Ol advertisers’ copy. In the various seats Were readers galore, with their blue pencil marks Running all o'er the paper. The poetry sharks Were filling the waste-baskets with poor poets’ stuff And proof readers also were getting quite rough, For printers and setters were going all wrong, Putting slugs in too short and lines in too long. Galley-proofs streamed all 'round the room. Students’ copy was flying to waste-basket doom, Yea, the Witan was making, but, oh, how so late. Yet the Witan was rushing to make dead-line date. A week now has passed, and in our old den The posters are up. But nine out of ten Must be changed all around, for the Witan will come A week from the date when it's s'pposed to be clone. John Donoghue MY PRAYER Sweet are the notes from the honey'd throats which carol at ev'ning-tide; In the purple hush, the hermit thrush has avoice which few have vied. And who but hark when they hear the lark, which is the Briton's pride? Rut the robin's song in the morning And the wren's sweet voice thru the day, The pigeon's call in the twilight— These are all for which I pray. Some may quest for the bunting's nest, for his glorious color and coat; The gold high-hole and the oriole in scarlet and marigold gloat; Tho’ most men pray for plumage gay— on burnished brilliance dote— The robin's song in the morning, And the wren's sweet voice thru the day, The pigeon’s call in the twilight— These are all for which 1 pray. 29