Fredericksburg College - Quips and Quibbles Yearbook (Fredericksburg, VA)

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Page 86 QUIPS AND QUIBBLES ■ MY LOVE You ask me to think of you sometimes When you have gone far away, And we are no longer children, And life has more work and less play. You beg me as onward I journey In the rugged pathway of life, When there comes an hour of gladness, A pause in the battle’s strife, That backward I memory turn To the happy hours spent with thee, Long years ago together, From cares and sorrows free. But dear heart, you know not, As you made this request of me, The depth of love that’s in my heart, And my endless thinking of thee. If you had asked, my darling, To try not to think often of you, Then would you have demanded A thing I could not do. For ever of you I am thinking With a love none ever can know, For it is far greater, my dearest Than was ever high Heaven below. S. T. L., ’02

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QUIPS AND QUIBBLES Page 85 Dreaming I sit and gaze in the fire, In the depths of its ruddy glow, And like the flickering shadows Strange fancies come and go, ’Till there rises up from the embers A spirit in flame all bright, Which seems to hover near me And dazzles me with its light. And again I look about me And the walls have faded away, And I am left with the spirit In a maze of mystic gray. But while I yet am gazing There comes a rift in the gloom, A glory shines around me, And the scent of flowers in bloom Is wafted o’er the plains That stretch so far away, That they seem to have no bounds Save the wall of mystic gray. But the spirit goes before me, And beckons me with his hand, And I must follow after— Obey his least command. And now w T e reach a hill top, And I look on the plain below All alive with thousands of mortals Ever hastening to and fro, As if some lost thing searching. Then I turned me to my guide, My face with wonder glowing; Then spake he thus, and sighed— “This throng that wanders up and down With eager searching glances, Are mortals who in youth, Neglected all the chances That came in varied forms; Now ’tis their awful doom To wander through this valley O’ershadowed each mind with gloom, So that they see no beauty, And know one thing alone— The opportunities let pass, The things they should have done.” The spirit fails to speak— My vision fades away— And I start up from my chair Resolved henceforth each day I shall attempt to grasp Each chance of doing good, To hear on the Great Day “She hath done what e’er she could.” S. T. L., ’02.

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QUIPS AND QUIBBLES Page 87 E was a naturalist; she was a butterfly. He had come to the Beach to study butterfly life; she had come to be one of the butterflies. He had singled her out from among the rest for special study; she had set her mind to lead him a chase. The Beach was in the wild delirium which comes with the realization that soon all will be over. But a little while and grim life would shake off the bright dream and awake once more for the realities of another season. Along the wide sands they strolled; he intent upon the capture; she rapt in the excitement of elusiveness. “No, I can’t give you that.” “Why? Let it be a souvenir, a sw r eet token of you.” “A very dear friend gave it. No, I can’t part with it.” “Is your friend she from whom you just parted?” “Oh, no! you have the sex wrong.” He drew back in rigid coldness. Breezes from off the ice fields of the far North lent themselves to his words: “But don’t you think you should have told me before of this other fellow?” A light beamed in her merry eyes. “Why, I didn’t think you would care, besides, I thought you knew.” “How should I know?” “I thought I had told you.” A look of bewilderment: “You have told me nothing except that-that I was the only-well-” “But-” “You didn’t make any exceptions then.” “I know, but everyone knows this.” “I did not, and you should have told me.” She turned away to hide the twinkle that would come. He raised the net, and gazed abstractedly at it, as the butterfly took to its wings and flew away. It was all over. Frost had come to put new life into limp humanity. Novels, cameras, bathing suits and sunshades were packed away, along with memories bitter-sweet. And the Beach was deserted. The erstwhile comatose city throbbed once more under the stimulus of the return flow of life. A dainty note, redolent of violets, familiar with its long drawn out words, two to the line, came one morning to the naturalist: “How foolish of you, you old Goosey, to get mad with me down at the Beach; I am awfully sorry; won’t you forgive me? I didn’t know I hadn’t told you I have a brother; and he’s so nice about giving me pretty things. Do you want that pin now?’ ’ He again took up his net, and went to chase butterflies. A parlor in Highlife street. A lamp turned real low. Cushions, foot stools, luxurious chairs. A bright little fire in a polished grate. She sat gazing upon the flickering flame as if all absorbed in its mysteries; he sat gazing upon her face as if lost in the