George E Westinghouse High School - Sketch Book Yearbook (Pittsburgh, PA)

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...bw -..- Eighfeen -f W-.M W. 0. N.----... V ...ww , ,I , . .,a.f-'xv -1 W- , , -.U ,., ,,.t. X- ,.,.... Y - , 1-W.- ,....n,-............,.,..... ..,,. ...fy- The Outlaw Beware! With footsteps soft The outlaw slinks aboutg And ere we know that he has come, He's gone. Cast out By all mankind From realms of life and love, He grimly steals about the world Alone. He left The ways of right To live alone in fear Of God and man And hold them both In hate. ROBERTA HORNER The Voice of the Deep 'Tis a madness I have for the sea dashing high VVhen it thnnders and breaks on the rocks near by. As its spray taints the air with the salt of the sea, And it splashes and gurgles and churtles with glee, I feel a wild urgeg it is calling for me. Gnce I stood on the rocks with the sea pounding near, Looking forward to danger but feeling no fearg Then trembling I poised on the highest jet, Leapt, dove into spaceg I can feel it yet As the sea and the spray and my human self met. There Heaven I'll find, I cried as I dove, ' For the sea and the spray were my First true love. So I sank with the waves to a bed of rocks Where the warmth of life the cold sea mocks, And the mermaids dance in seaweed frocks. In a new dawn I awoke on a golden strand VVhere the waves and the clouds walked hand in hand And Aurora rode high through the spray and the mist 'Till with one graceful dart my hand she kissedl I knew then, with God I had kept my tryst. LOLA E. SICKLES Y - wsa.-,,,.,,,..... V , ,..,....,,,s.:.,-,-,.,,,,,,,. N-,.v-,..:,..-,..s. , A1 2--1-'L V, WEA-,f --...-.,........f- T ,L ,i',,V,,m-'wi -Y,,,, W -S-: Y I-..:,,,-,A.m'v,,,-L rt :E i- - -- .asf - --,,.---,,, -V -...fs-...i,..1!,YAK f,

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April Nights The grass stirs softly in the breeze Like waving ripples on the seas, The birches bend as breezes blow While stately elms sway to and fro, And aspens quiver with delight, It was, I thought, a pleasant sight On this, an early April night. How different in some far-off land Where barren wastes of steppes expand And o'er-cast skies, gray, cold, and bleak, Are met my many a snow-clad peak, It was, I thought, a dreary sight On this, an early April night. Here freemen strive to master truthg Here wise men stifle views uncouth. Resigned are they across the sea, For servant, master, bond, and free All cling to life with dull insight: For all of this is nature's right On this, an early April night. HELEN M. Life ceaseless current, to the sea, feeble spirit on thy tide. stream into eternity, soul upon its ocean wide. In tender years around thy gurgling source I paddled in the trustfulness of youth. But soon into the fullness of thy course I plunged. And lo! I find thy ways uncouth. With carping dogmas and with creeds outworn Vast hordes of prating pilots would enslave Mine own free mind. Their bigotry I scorn. 'Tis truth, not warped tradition that I crave. I'll seek alone. They shall not me suborng Life's truth I'l1 know. But oh, how soon the g Roll on, thou And roll my Roll on lifeis And free my -'Q Y Y- -r - V -'f-'fx-I-ffgy' 1 -rev ,, ...N Y-gz'JanItuai2lus'-1-'IIDZJLI ,... M.. ....,..,..... ,-.gcvw-...., .. -. rave l BIEHL, '3l. ALEXANDER STEVENS. .S'cvr11teen

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. .,.,.. . , - W-. - , -,.,..,,, -Q.,--..1.,,....,,. -qv,-.,.,,,,..,, , ., ..,, ..,.,..Ng,,xu,,,...,,,., The Waves I love to' listen to the waves That softly lap upon the shoreg And further out, along the rocks, I love to hear the breakers roar. I love to see the white-caps leap Upon a blue and sparkling bay. Or hear the fog-horn sullen shrilly blow To signal wandering ships away. I love to feel the cold salt breeze That blows my tumbled hair about. And when the boats are coming in, I'love to hearl the sailogsfshout. The sea has always been my friendg The waves that dash in foam and spray Call to my heart though distant far To dance with them on sand and cay. 'i NANCY KEN NARD. Fog of Life No' time for rest As through this swamp We edge our way To distant heights. Onward we plunge Into a mistg The fog of life Bewilders us. The mist is dense Though high we climb. Is there no light? Our sick soul cries. What it all means We do not know Except that fame's The upward road. Still onward plunge Into the mistg This fog of life Bewilders us. CLARENCE BENSON. Nineteen fun: EJ: - V- - e, --' L-r..-We-.,-, . ,. . - ' J- 'j'EC::4.:.?:: ':5,259-51 -W-- --- -- ...fn ...D - ,- ...,.-......,..,,-qanaels... ..,, , .,...,., ...Y-V.. I ' I is, ls all fu, 1, W M ii' vi, A1 Ui lt . 115 4 1 lf Mg- 'v..--f- .f..-,.,..- 4-44 , :- li I 1 li gl l 'l fr it nl l ,V 4 Il qi 2? L I it is in F H l ' I 3 4 l lu r l