Cleveland High School - Legend Yearbook (Portland, OR)

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THE LEDGER {Twenty-three Portland By LUCILE DODSON, S. P. From wiiidbluwii heights above the noisy din And feverish, pulsing temper of her streets Where Life is surging billows, throbs and beats, I watch soft-fingered night come stealing in To heal with velvet touch the wounds of day. Lights twinkle, fade, and glimmer eerily — Like dusky stars lost in a midnight sea. Wan lights that glow, and glowing, die away. A lo ely, glittering creature, steeped in pride, Breaker of dreams and lavish giver of gifts. Who gently stoops to one and gently lifts. Breaking another to be cast aside; Alluring, mystic, holding in her hand The best and worst in life which men demand. Shadows By Fave Howe, S. P. Like flick ' ring shadows that so harshly fall In wa ' ring, pointed tongues of ebon black. That disappear and come as quickly back To dance in glee upon the dead-white wall, Is measuring, weighing life, whose great blank page Reflects, like surface of a shallow pool, The actions of a sage, the antics of a fool, Existing on this earth from age to age. But unlike shifting shadows, life ' s dark deeds Are graven in black words upon the wall, That stand, unchanging through the countless )ears, Though sinners endlessly tell strands of beads. The deed is done, whatever may befall ; The words unworn, though washed by showers of tears. I To a Wood Lily By Doris Wilson, S. P. In darkest wood with tallest trees With one gold spot of sunlight on your face, What kind of woodland flower are you Among these ferns of hazy pale green lace? ' our cold white face, with pale blue veins, Areaching toward that bit of blue up there; What ancient princess, say, art thou Turned by a witch into a flower so rare? 1 fa!n would pluck you, blossom fair, But if I did you ' d wither and would fade, I ' ll leave you in your spot of sun So vou may brighten this dark wooded glade. Worshippers By Siegfried Rosen, S. P. Deep through the stifled melancholy air Of evening, sobered by the death of light. There comes the sound of wearied souls in praver And echoes of the answering voice of Night. While droning darkness droops its heavy pall About the stilled symbolic shrine of God, The p ' eadings of the kneeling mourners fall Lfpon the ears of those who passing plod. And as I pass, I bow my head in awe Of both the Master and my fellow man, And drop a tear before the spirit ' s law. For kindred souls make all the world one clan. So thus I stand before the open door. Outside, a silent worshipper the more. I F By Doris Wilson, S. P. ( A pologies tcj Kif ling) If you can bob your hair, when all about you. Girls are growing their ' s and giving you laugh ; If when skirts are worn down to the ankles You can wear your ' s around your calf; If you can paint and never spoil the picture; If you can talk and never say a thing; If you can do all this and never grumble, You ' ll be some flapper soon, old thing. If you can dream, and not wake up till noontide; the If you can make your thoughts all land the game; If you can talk to reform maniacs And make those witty words all have an aim ; If you can bear to hear the slang you ' ve spoken. Used by fools who wish to shine ; If you can do all this and never grumble, You ' ll be a flapper too, some time.

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Twenty-two THE LEDGER The Song of the Willow Branches By Siegfried Rosen, S. P. (First Prize Foein) Wearied heads and wistful boughs, Dipping in the dreamy trail ; Bowing branches, bending limbs, Drooping in a drowsy wail; Nodding, nursing, listening, still ; Bleeding in a broken plea. Sobs the silvery Willow Tree. Blasted blossoms, weighted leaves. Heavy in the deadened air; Gre ish twigs and lazy stalks, Leaning in a lifeless stare; Lost in soothing slumber soft. Sunken in Eternity, Sleeps the weeping Willow Tree. Trickling waters, silken streams; Gliding, gleaming, lithe and low, Loitering through a listless lane. Lisping, stirring, leisured flow; Rippling by the fluttered boughs; Crooned and lulled in crowded glee, Nods the breathing Willow Tree. Wafted sighs and wilted leaves, Drifting on the fitful floss; Whitened lily, languid twig, Drooping over dolorous moss ; Blooming buds and beryl growth. Touching, twining branches, free. Float beneath the Willow Tree.

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Twenty-fourl THE LEDGER R. F. D. No. 3 or 1945 Broadway By Kenneth Richards, S. P. The country is the only place to live — So say some. They speak of its Limitless, Impressive, Grandly heautiful expanse of mother earth in all her moods — Sharp, angry, jagged cliffs, Low, soft, green fields. Gay, laughing, happy brooks — To them, the country is the only place to live. There are those who say the city is the only place — They know its Massive, Stately, Inspiring temples, builded to the Gods of Industry. The slamming, jamming, rushing traffic. The jostling, bustling, crowded walks, The glitter and glare of gay night life — The city life may sound sordid to those who have not lived it, But we whose keenest joy is in the rumble of heavy traffic, Love it. Along the Road By Siegfried Rosen, S. P. I have seen a beggar ' s eyes Of wistful and beseeching grey ; I have seen a beggar rise, Only to stumble on his way. I have seen a beggar ' s face Of sunken eye and hollow cheek ; I have seen a beggar ' s grace For fear he once should plaintive speak. I have heard a beggar pray With quaking cough and broken prayer; I have heard a beggar ' s nay To proffered alms from poor who care. I have seen a beggar bend Before another humble one; I have seen a beggar lend His gain to foes who had not won. And I have seen a beggar creep Along the endless silent way ; And I have seen him stop to weep. And turn and vanish with the day. Mt. Hood By Mary Reinis Out of the realms of old Willamette, Over its valley ' s broad expanse, Emerges the monarch of the mountains, Supreme in his power of romance — Mt. Hood, the guardian of ages. Full-formed, majestic, and proud; Sun-kissed, he is sung by the sages. While the twilight enrobes him in clouds. Old mountain, imperial, triumphant, So calm, so peaceful, and free, Shoulder the cares of us mortals, Who constantly look up to thee — Take all our woes and our sorrows, Bury them deep in your glacial rent, Breathe back thy spirit of calm strength and power, And fill all our hearts with content.