Kingston Collegiate and Vocational Institute - Times Yearbook (Kingston, Ontario Canada)

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6 KINGJTON coc.LeGlA're VQEIATIONAL uN.s'1'iTu1'a -9 Sonnet to Queen's University f2nd Prize-David Stevenson 4AJ 1-...l Fragment of Scotland on a far-off strand, The spell of Scotia is upon thee still, Deep in thy heart the ancient pulses thrill To the dear memory of the motherland. NVith sober dignity thy halls are crowned, And memories in quiet corners hide Cf Scotland's bigotry and Scotland's pride, Her simple faith and loyalty profound. This is thy soul, O Queen's, and we who ' Came From stately mansions or secluded farm In search of cloistered learningg may WC SCC That bright tradition, like a rising flame, Purge all dishonour that might do thee harm, Building at last one great fraternity. The Deserted Dance Floor 13rd Prize-Allan H. Kent SBJ Men here and there and everywhere, but none of them will danceg The bluest tunes of newest moons, the latest gowns from France, The social year would climax here-that should appear quite clearg- Yet ever 'near a silence drear of longing, hope, and fear. One maiden spies with longing eyes across the shining floor Her only hope discussing dope with men around the door. Another stands with folded hands, eyes fixed upon the wall, Witli hopes to hear some man draw near to claim her as his doll. The hostess here, increasing fear envelop- ing her heart, Begins to try with pleading eye to get the dance to start. She, begging, flies from dumb to wise, im- ploring both to dance, But each one sighs, tries wise replies, and lies with helpless glance: My feet is soreg canlt dance no moreg we're tired, her and me. Or, Tackle Jack, behind your back. He'll dance, you go and see l A lithesome bound-oh, welcome sound! In hope she whirls around, And there he stands, just where he lands- it's Charles! Relief is found. And now the boys with lots of noise lead girls in graceful dresses. Gowns dark and light-vests black and white-dark sideburns-golden tresses. The floor, not small, 's not seen at all, the dancers are so many, And every girl has her own Earle, and every boy his Ienny. .-62-.

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,Al 1 '13 lm ,sa ssy xg ,I 455- A ' afsf' 1 I 'ibm Ag 'UI U' W Q-,fe ,-,z C i 4 :Jak gr- .ar Q TJ 4, 57 11, ll A K up ' 7 H., . .3 . 4 :sc 'D' 'SQL 1 Editor: Barbara Craig, 4B. Tha 03501100 of all jvocfry Usb fo lic fnznul, llOf in llligll-'ZUl'0IlQlll subtlety of flzougzf 1101' i11 f10i11fml rlm'v1'11vs.v of jvlzrasc, lm! in ilu' flvfiflzs of flu' lzcarf and the most sacred fcclu gs of flu' 111011. who 'zU1'1'fv.1 -Keble. lf is not mzozrglzl fluiz' flOt'llZS lu' f11'vffy,' lllfj' mzuvf lu' sivvvf, and 111o7'v af will flu' 111111 of ilu? I1 L'Ul'0l'. ,-HOTHCC. Young 111011, ay, and fuuzifls T00 often sow flzcir tsrild oats in tame t'v1'sc'. -Elizabeth Barrett Browning Winter fl Somzet. flst Prize-Robert E. Ashcroft 4Aj Vtlhen winter lays his hoary mantle down, And dresses verdant fields in raiment softg VVhen smiling ponds attain an icy crown, And naked trees lift graceful arms aloftg Then comes the time when all men celebrate The joyous Yuletide and the Qld Year's flightg VVhen lightly o'er a frozen stream we skate, Or on toboggans coast down hillsides white. At nightfall, when the Wind moans through the trees, Around the cheerful hearth we draw our ehairsg And there We sit and chat in restful ease, Watcliiiig the brilliant f1re's inconstant Hares, And feel its lazy overpowering heat, Our happiness and comfort then conmlete. ..61-

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-Doris Killingbeck, IX. 6 KINGJTON COLLEIGIATE VOCATIONAL lN.f'rlTuTe 3 Heritage Perhaps you've noticed them upon the hill, Or chanced upon them where the wood is deep Forgotten graves with rude stones standing still, In grassy spots where shade and silence keep. And if with curious hands you've bent away The tangled growth of unremembered years, Upon the mouldering stones of white and gfalf You've found the names of early pioneers. Familiar names, not lost from age to age, But borne by eager sons who follow on, Passing from hand to hand the heritage Of toil and conquest, as from dusk to dawn. Forgotten the-n, these slumbering mounds of dust, That lie where summer shadows creep and run? But no! Mere stones may crumble, seam with rust, Yet the brave spirit lives from son to son l Remember Remember the clover fields heavy with dew, And the garden, with all kinds of green, And the white road which wound oier hill and o'er dale, To the little grey hoire of your dreams? Remember the dandelion thick on the law-n And the tedious job you had there? How early your rising to help with the load VVhen the weather turned out bright and fair? Remember the fields of ripe grain in the sun, VVhere the black-birds were singing all day, And the jenny VVrens, scolding each other so, Put you knew that 'twas only in play. Many years have passed since you saw your home But the memory still lingers on, Of the little grey house, and the long white road And the friends who have come and gone. -Clive McElroy, SD. The Loon's Call Lone dweller of each quiet northern lake, Where man's hand has not come, invading The stillness of the wilderness, persuading Such timid feathered creatures as there make A home in solitude to quickly take Their flight at the approach of man, and break Away to seek new habitats, as pioneers, pervading Each newer reach of habitable land Move onward, whence comes thine eery voice? Didst hear a woman laughing in wild mirth And copy her, or try to mock some man Pouring forth his soul in grief? Nay, thy choice Was to relate thy story to all earthy Thus thou didst form the calling of thy clan. -Barbara Craig, 4B. 1-63-T