Hunter College High School - Argus Yearbook (New York, NY)

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THE ARGUS . with the sparkle of genius, and then mocked, llaughed at him? Now all through life he will remember that for a brief lhlour he was famous-but 'twas only for a brief hour. His eager lips have quaifed one draught of the brimming cup of inspiration, and then the cup has been dashed to the ground by a cruel hand, while he blindly gropes for it in the dark. And the werel- woman laughs. Can this be true? you ask. Ah, strange things happen in the moonlight. Draw clloser around the fire and let us have another story, ene' the light goes out and we are left in dark- ness. - Hilda Abel, Ag7. illrinarh Oft I remarked how many number those, Who starting in the race lhlave failed to gain Their longed for goalg whuo spite the.ir work and pain, And ever toiling upward, at the close Learn all too late he does not reap who sows - For in its mercy Fate will still restrain Each man, leisft fhe all glory should attain.- !! Are they then fools to try since thus it goes? So did I cry and swift my answer came: To win or lose is but the smallest part To those the players in lthis mighty game. Content are they with only their own art, Content are they witfhout the crown of fame., If but they rise in their own mind and heart. Leah Jonas, A7 31

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THE ARGUS huddled heap at the. other end of the bench. It stirs, and he sees a face of such weird beauty -that he cries out involun- tarilly. Slhlef smiles and moves towvard him. Soon, they begin to talk. Of him, they talk, of his work, his desrires, his ambi- tions. Slowly, the moon is waning. It goes b-ehind a cloud as, simultaneously, they rise. He turns, and without one back- ward glance moves away. She stares at him as he walks and a mocking smile curves her red lips. Another fool, slhie thinks. The moonlight has gradually faded from tihie statue, and left it-a bare, ugly, fact. The woman looks at it, and' stibl smiling, thinks of what she has done. Slowly, she fades from sight into the now dim moonlight, but the memory of that taunting smile seems still to remaiin. And he, walking hicime with his head in the clouds, his feet scarcely touching the ground. Whlat a proud mad feeling is throbbing through him! What elation is his! The moonlight is dancing before him in dazzling patters, is clutching his heart with tiny fingieirs. And yet it seems to laugh at him. Now, the moon is hidden behind a gauzy cloud. With the light gone the night no longer fascinates lhlimg he goes home. He sfeats himself at his desk and, almost without any eifort on his part, words present themselves to him and form themselves into throbbing, living sentences. All night he writes feverishly and when dawn steals in, she finds him slieleping, pen in hand, still clutching the precious manuscript, a masterpiece in which youth, and love, and moonlight are all glorified in living, burn- ing sentences. He mails thiei poem and lives only for the hour when he shall hear the glad news that it has been accepted. At last, a letter comes. With trembling hands, he tears it open. Yes, they have accepted it, they want more.. But to- day, 'hae will not write. There is always plenty of time to-mor- row. To-morrow croniweis, and to-morrow but he cannot rise t0 the heigihrtsi again. His poems are accepted merely :ofn the merit of the first,-his only great one. After a while these Poems too are uefturned to him. He does not understand. He had thouigiht to be of the immortals, and now ........ He thinks back on that magic night when the fire of genius ran in lhuis veins. lt all seems fantastic, ia dream. How is he to know that the were-woman has led him on, and for a moment imbuied him 30

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