Girls High School - Yearbook (Reading, PA)

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Have you ever ,heard of the Sugar Plum Tree? 'Tis a marvel of great renown! It blooms on the shore of the Lollipop Sea, In the garden of Shut-Eye Towng The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet, CAs those who have tasted it sayl That good little children have only to eat Of that fruit to be happy next day. These are not fancies which appeal to men in their higher moments, moments of success, when they leave the world behind and other peoples seem lesser in comparison. Nor yet are they eternal fancies which appeal to those who wish to be uplifted, or wish to Hnd inspirations to ennoble their lives and strengthen their ideals. They are dainty child fancies, most de- lightful to a soul wearied with a surfeit of lofty ambitions, of wasting hopes, of goals, seemingly forever unattainable. Rest and refreshment for thte spirit is their gift to human kind. They help the strugglers on the toilsome way, make life more worth living, and stir the springs of eternal hope in the human heart. A ' Happy the man that while his blood is warm, Sees hope and friendships dead about him lie Nor shuns the poison barbs of calumnyg And 'mid it all stands sturdy and elate, Girt only with the armor God hath meant For him who 'neath the buffeting of fate Can say to God and man, 'I am content.' Field did not need nature to stir him to his greatest efforts as did Wordsworth, nor the supernatural as did Poe, nor yet the forces of love as Byron. Simple, everyday happenings when clothed with his rich imagina- tion and rollicking fancies are irresistible. Solitude was not an incentive tc him to work. It was when he was surrounded by people and in the midst of active life that his inspirations came to him. He was at a child's Christmas party when he composed his famous little jingle: Father calls me William, sister calls me Will, Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill. Mighty glad I ain't a girl-rather be a boy Without them sashes, curls and things that's worn by Fauntleroy! Love to chawnk green apples, an' go swimmin' in the lake- Hate to take the castor-ile they give for belly-ache! 'Most all the time the whole year round, there ' ain't no flies on me, But jist 'fore Christmas l'm as good as I kin be. The charming grace, pathos, sympathy and revelation of beautiful thought beneath a masque of fantasy came straight from his own heart and mind. He lived his life in his poetry, as do all truly great poets, He was 10

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Eugene Field, the Beloved Frances A. Foos world not merely by the names given them by their parents in child- hood. ,Generally there was some striking epithet attached, designating some distinctive characteristic, occupation or exploit. Alexander the Great would be scarcely recognized without his full title, nor Cato the Censor, Edward the Confessor, nor William the Conqueror. What then could be more appropriate than that we attach to one of the greatest men of our day, Eugene Field, the title of Beloved? The world has produced its great dramatic poet, Shakespeare, the poet of nature, Wordsworth, the ethical poet, Browning, its Lowells, Tennysons, Popes, Longfellows, Poes, all marvelous they are, each in his own sphere, but where in the annals of history can be found one, so simple, so homespun, yet so valued and endeared beyond other poets as our own American, Eugene Field, the Beloved? Eugene Field, the poet of youth and of old age, of high and low, of rich and poor, does not win his place in our hearts because of his intellectual appeal, nor yet by mastering the emotions with tense or dramatic situations. The very irrepressible gayness and again pathos in the expression -of his ouaint, lovely child thoughts has charmed us with its beauty, not overpowered us with its grandeur. , ,IN ancient and mediaeval times great men were known to the outside Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe- Sailed on a river of crystal light, Into a sea of dew. g 'Where are you going and what do you wish?' The old moon asked the three. 'We have come to fish for the herring Hsh That live in this beautiful sea, Nets of silver and gold have wel' Said Wynken Blynken And Nod. Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle bed. So shut your eyes while mother sings Of wonderful sights that be And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock in the misty sea. Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three: Wynken Blynken And Nod. . Those who are familiar with the works of Eugene Field knww 'tthe in-s that a loosened spirit brings. Up, up into the witching realm of dreams the haunting lines wing your spirit, tired and bruised from the sordid petttv trifies of this earth. Through the land of fancy they take you, peopled with capricious images of a poet's own imagination. Yet curiously friendly are they, and Soothing to the soul. Q L

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1 1 Eugene Field and His Little Friends From the EUGENE FIELD BOOK. By permission of Gharles Scribner's Sons. to a great extent aided in his efforts by his deep love ofgchildren. lnvolun- tarily they were attracted to this kindred spirit, who was capable of telling more marvelous tales than even their vivid litttle imaginations could conjure up. lt is this sympathy for children and implicit belief in their fairy world that inspired most of his poetry. Otherwise how could he have written? l ain't afeard of snakes or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice An' things 'at girls are skeered uv I think are awful nice! l'm pretty brave 1 guessg an' yet I hate to go to bed, For when l'm tucked up warm an' snug an' when my prayers are said, Mother tells me, 'Happy dreamsi' an' takes away the light, An' leaves me lyin' all alone an' seein' things t at night. Though renowned the world over for his humor, Field reached the height of his poeticaleifusion when writing of tragedy. Some great shock often completely revolutionizes a blithe, care-free nature and .touches hidden springs of sentiment hitherto undiscovered. Thus it seems that a tragedy was destined to bring out the noblest and sweetest in Field's nature. After the death of his litttle son all his works have an appealing touch of sadness. , The little toy dog is covered with dust, But sturdy and staunch he stands, And the little toy soldier is red with rust, And his musket moulds in his hands. Time was when the little toy dog was new And the soldier was passing fair, 11