Guelph Collegiate Vocational Institute - Acta Nostra Yearbook (Guelph, Ontario Canada)

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60 ACTA NOSTRA, 1926 The Poets' Corner APRIL tPriZe Poemj Last night the wor-ld was dark and grey. It seemed that Spring was far away. And only winter near: No birds were twiittering in the sun, The sap had not commenced to run. And all was dark and drear. To-day the world is misty green A prettier sight was never seen Than Lady April now. The birds are singing songs of praise. And buds their sleepy eyes upraise. Along the maple bough. The brooks are chattering to the breeze XYhicli tells the stories to the trees That Spring once more is here: No longer does the icy band Of winter hold the world in hand. But Spring has brought good cheer, First .X'pril's rains fall down to earth. Then .-Xpril's sun shines out in mirth: For April is an elf. NVho laughs in joy. in tears then weeps. But ever and anon s-he keeps. Her secret to herself. N. Millen. III Jr. C THE OWL tPrize Poeml VYhen moonlight is Hickering. Through twilight just thickening. XVhen swallows are twittering. And hreflies light? Then down a pale moonbeam. O'er moss clad in web sheen Glides ll phantom. strange phantom of night. A mysterious shadow. O'er Field and o'er meadow. Soft grey-winged marauder Of hours past dayg And through the dark branches. XVhere the Norway pine dances. His voice fades away. fades away. When sunlight is sifting Through white mists just lifting. VVhen pink clouds are drifting. And the east glows red: All grey in a sunbeam. Bedraggled with dew sheen. Our phanton. a barn owl. lies dead. D. Rushbrook, III Jr. C. THOUGHTS OF A STUDENT By morn and afternoon we come and go. And wonder. wonder if great Julius wore His heart upon his sleeve. or if before Sir Virgil wrote. did he his Latin know? Di-d queer faced Socrates with brains so VVonfdrious bright. ask questions by the score? Or blind old Homer sing his ancient lore? Did all these things by fate just happen so? Again we look ahead and see thetime VVhen we will neither come nor go with thought Of such. but set about our work with naught Of book or pen or sturdy Latin line. ,V And with our brightly shining classical light, VVe'ill give the sleeping world a dreadful' fright. i .T.'K. Mather. III Sr. B. THE HERMIT The breath of spray foams o'er the sea. Dark clouds the east horizon sweep: A sea of thoughts are blown to me. From out a grey and surging deep. Though towers high my grim abode, Thoug-h lone my life u-pon this rock. Though years of time have faster strode And life its failure ceased to mock. Yet. dawn the crimson sunrise brings. Each eye the dew falls sparkling here. And nature all her glory flings To light a bare and storm-swept sphere. Across that waste from where I came. Borne on an ocean of despair. XYhat lurks? The world with all its fame, VVill never lure my spirit there. Dorothy Rushbriook. HI jr, C.

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ACTA NOSTRA, 1926. 61 THE WEAVER OF THE SEASONS The XVeaver of the Seasons is a wizened man and old. He sits in his great castle with its towers grim and bold: That rear their turrets to the sky to meet the clouds. it seems. XYhile the XYeaver of the Seasons weaves a thread of golden dreams. He weaves the winter's storm and cold with thread as white as snow. But here and there red cheeks are found where wind has made them glow: :Xnd to himself he sings a song while working there all day. A song that tells of hopes and fears in the world so far away. Then. gradually. in goes the pink and delicate pale green. And blue. and mauve. and all the shades. the prettiest ever seen: That tell of Spring the season fair. most welcome of the four. .-Xnd down they shed their radiance through the castle's open door. Then soon there comes the happy smile of children free from school, And the XVeaver of the Seasons. as he weaves with golden s-pool. In fabrics gay tells all the world Summer is here again. Go ou-t my friends. go out and play. in sun- shine or in rain. The XYeaver in the fabric weaves the browns and greys that tell. That fall is here: and down to the world. clear as a ringing bellg The news flies fast: and all at once a stir of life it seems Arouses all the live things to prepare for months of dreams. And the XYeaver of the Seasons. as he works away with will. lYeaves in his wondrous tapestrv the tale of good and ill: Spring. Summer. Fall and XYinter. can come when'er they may. They'll find the lYeaver sitting and weaving day by day. Xora I. Millen. III lr. C. The Dover Road The road that winds its way across the mills and through the valleys from London Town to Dover is old and historical. Original- ly it was the Vvatling Street of Roman times and countless Roman legions have marched along it bringing terror to the hearts of the native Britons: countless. too. were the regi- ments of soldiers whom we saw marching along it from 1914 to l9l8. It was along this road that were nrst told those stories that are famous as Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. After leaving London one goes for a short time through rather uninteresting city suburbs and then. at last. one is out in the open country. The English countryside has not the unfinished appearance of the rural districts in Canada. Here are neat Fields bordered by low hedges: and trim cottages. many of them timbered and with thatched roofs. The road in Spring is so beautiful that one is almost speechless with the wonder and delight of it all. In the hedge- rows are wild roses. even daintier. I think. than their garden cousinsg the red and white hawthorns are also here. Yellow primroses cluster along the base of the hedges. while in a nearby wood the ground is covered with a stretch of blue that sways and bends in the breeze+bluebells. Having passed through several towns and villages one comes at length to Rochester, with its old castle on the hill-top that keeps guard over the town and watch on those that pass along the Dover Road. Here it was that Charles Dickens made his home at Gadshill. and Rochester and its near neighbour. Chatham. are proud of their mention in numb- ers of his stories. Some distance on is Milton. now an inland village. but formerly the sea came right up to it. and Yiking sailors burned and sacked the town. The next place of interest is Ospringe: here is the Maison Dieu. a priory founded by King Henry III. Beside it is Wiater Lane which is sometimes so filled with water that boats can be used on it. About a mile further on is Faversham. lust out of the town is Ewell Farm. now owned by my grandfather. where King Stephen died. Canterbury is perhaps the most beautiful city of all. lf you stand On the hill just out- side the town and look down. the old grey cathedral is seen rearing its towers benignly among the ancient timbered houses that cluster close around. It has been said that every Eng- lish speaking man and woman should visit Canterbury at least once in their lives and this view from the Kentish hill-to-p would re- pay a journey of many miles. The Dover Road goes through the 'XYest Gate which is part of the original Town XYiall. A little way ahead is the oldest Christian Church in Eng- land where services have been held continu- ously for over thirteen hundred years. Then like a white ribbon, the road meand- ers along through many small villages. for one cannot travel very far in England before one comes to either a town or a village. till at last it comes to Dover. the premier Cinque port and well known in many stories. Here ends the Dover Road and in its journey from London to Dover it goes through some seventy-six miles of the -prettiest country in England. Nora Millen. III Jr. C.