Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE REFLECTOR Dark Mountain It seems to me that I have wandered Miles—and miles through empty space, And still I cannot make an end of darkness. All night I have sought and have tried to see, But only shadows limp across my path. Long and long ago—if I remember rightly— Some wise fools in the tavern spoke and told me To be sure that I had oil and lanterns, For often night comes quickly, when the lights are unprepared. Dimly too, I recollect, how I ridiculed the thought, And how I finally sprang up from the fire And my wines and sallied forth into the night To show the fools that brave men Have no sentimental fear of darkness. At first the winds, like windmills on the shore, Whirled icy bits of snow before my eyes; And often, too, I paused to see If trees and rocks stood starkly out against the snow, But only vague, white blurs appeared where woods had been Then of a sudden, when I stopped for rest, I found I could not see how cliffs Cut silhouettes against the whiteness of the fields! I screamed, I forced my voice into the night, And begged for lanterns for my eyes, But only silence and the echoes answered; Even the wolves were hushed within their holes— And now I stumble on across the hills With nothing but my prayer? to guide me. Here are shadows—there are shadows Pressing in around my head And tying strips of black across my eyes. O God—my God! Where are the lanterns! 0 God! Where is the oil! 1 cannot perish here where winds and snowdrifts Make a mincing end of living warmth—O God—my God! But wait! If I sit beneath the friendly shelter of a tree And wait and pray—why, some of those wise fools Who told me to take lamps and oil Will know my plight and pity me! And they will come and find me Huddled in a sightless heap upon the snow. And they will place a lantern in my hand! And they will light a lantern for my eyes, And they will light a lantern for my eyes, And they will light a lantern— Vernon Grounds, Feb. ’32. Twenty

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THE REFLECTOR The Hangar Towering stands the Hangar A giant of buildings, Cold and inhuman. Its intricate mechanism Instills in the onlooker An animal-like fear, A feeling of awe, Not easily overcome. Firm stands the Hangar. A monument of progress; The home of the airship— Long, slim and graceful, With its sides shining white In the glow of the sun. Lone stands the Hangar. In the center of the field’s Wide, windswept level A Beacon, a haven, too, For weary airmen Exhausted by long hours At the ship’s controls. Only a building, yet symbolic Of the age of wonders, The age of speed, and Unheard of accomplishments By men of genius, men Of daring, men skilled In the workings of machines. More than mere columns Of steel and concrete— A monument of shining light Flashing forth, a signal, A herald to the hordes, Of advancing civilization. Waldo Miller, June ’30. Winter Loves Don’t you love the flaky snowdrifts, Pearly white, Looking like high mountain summits Bathed in light? Don’t you love the sound of sleighbells Ringing clear, As it leaps and bounds and revels Drawing near? Don’t you love the frozen water’s Silver sheen, Looking like the shining tatters Of a dream? Don’t you love the marks of footprints In the snow, Seeming like the tracks of giants Long ago? Fay Bolton, June ’30. Nineteen

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THE REFLECTOR The Hole Is Right HERE she sat, as if a reigning queen, upset by trials and tribula- tion. Her delicately carved features were drawn tight. Her eyes sparkled like the glowing embers of a log fire after it is out. Her dainty hands were transformed into tightly clenched fists. The rings on her fingers bit cruelly into her flesh. Great heavens !---if only some kind fairy would come to her asssistance. From her position, she looked down upon a masculine figure kneel- ing before her. Her bowed head lifted slightly----------expectantly! She must decide at once! Yet as he began to speak, she hesitated. What if her decision be wrong? Across her mind flashed forgotten pages of history. Did Caesar hesitate at the Rubicon?-----Did Cleopatra flirt with the adder?-----Did Nero hesitate while Rome burned? No! She was sure on the last point at least. History said he fiddled. She would decide! Yes—her mind was made up. But, as her faintly rouged lips parted, thoughts of home, of parents, of all that was her very own, entered into her troubled brain. She was unable to banish them! If she decided wrongly, what then? Would she dare again to face her friends? Impossible! She would be a leper, an outcast-------shunned by society. She twitched convulsively at the thought. Her mother had warned her again and again! Yes---------if she could only remember. Was there no loop-hole for escape? She looked down distractedly at the bent figure before her---a ripple of fear passed over her body. She must face the consequences; let fate take its course. She drew a deep breath! Try the shoe on the left foot, please?” A delicately shaped foot was thrust forward. A sigh of relief escaped her. She had decided correctly! -----the hole was in the right stocking! Eleanor De Mattia, June ’30. The Sparroiu I saw a little sparrow, Sitting in the snow. He winked at me so cheerily, He seemed to laugh—just so. I looked at him, he looked at me, And then we laughed together. He seemed to say— Come out and play, and never mind weather.” Spirit of Aviation Just a speck Up in the sky. Now it turns into a fly. Now it grows into a crane. Now I see , That it’s a plane. the Charles Alles, Feb. ’32. Twenty-one Carol Propper, Feb. ’32.