Louise S McGehee School - Spectator Yearbook (New Orleans, LA)

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Fifty-four The Spectator Sonnet The summer clouds fill with a host of birds, And frightened thousands take to frightened ilights. Old men with canes, women, little children in the night. Squadrons up! the dauntless allied airman girds A parachute, the farmer leads his grazing herds, To his undercavern work a spy glides, He cheats, he lies, in darkness hides. To every town the Germans hurl these bitter words: These are not birds, but Stukas, wings of steel, Observe the wreckage caused by one big gun, Give up! be glad it's not your only song Your allies are defenseless, and they run, they reel, The summer clouds fill with the fall of war. Will there be a clearing for a peaceful star? The secret of this universe, the night With heaven's space will not unfold to meg But stays a silent, pathless, depthless sea, And rocks one phantom ship beyond all sight, Nor tells my soul an answer to its plight. The house of mortal world gives out no key! Oh, where shall all we mystic creatures be When ghastly ship has sailed a thousand, thousand nights? Cry out to all the realm of time and space, And search in brightest day with brilliant sun. Forever seek in vain of vainest hope, Alas, no leading pathway can you trace. The universe shall cease its course to run When mortal man has realized its scope. M. R. W., '42

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The Spectator Fifty-three Sonnet On Friendship I don't know why I fell for you, my friend: I know not whether like or love be here Within my groping heart, and I will wend My way alone-I'll try if you're not near. And, maybe for a little while I'd be Content or even glad to be away From every human beingg to be free From any cares that fill 'most every day. But in a shorter time than I should dream It possible to want to see a friend, And talk of things that happened in between Our meetingsg I would want you here again. I find that liking you is all that I Can do-but I'll do that until I die. Kathleen Smith, '42 A Love Sonnet I never thought my love would come this way, It slipped upon me wholly unawareg But when it came, I felt a sudden flame That made my whole being recall a May- A May of fung a May of friendly play, With pleasures of sunshine's abandoned care: The shrieks of laughterg and shining, flying hair, Flashed on my heart and wouldn't go away. But winter winds brought frost upon my heartg A thing that had been wasn't any more. At first the emptiness was unexplained, And then I saw your face, I gave a startg For all the sunshine that I had loved before, Was in your faceg and since then, has remained. Smith, '42.

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The Spectator Fifty-five Dormitory Drool LAST year, in fun, I did a poetic take-off on dormitory life, and I felt that I had to get in a last few words to those who know so little of what it is like. In the first place, it's loads of fun, particu- larly the nights you've worked till some unheard of hour and start to climb between the sheets of your inviting bed to find that some kind person has capably fixed it so that your six-foot length and cir- cumference is expected to rearrange itself to a two by four rectangle. Then, of course, there is the one who thinks it's roaringly funny to put a wet kid glove in your bed, which makes you feel that without a doubt something chose your bed to die in. That's a lovely one. One of the oldest, but one that never fails to make someone terribly amused, even though it knocks them out, is that trick of putting a pan of water on top of a door. That's forbidden, now, since someone thought it was so funny last year, she just plain passed out. Then there is that happy little thing called lights out, which is supposed to carry enough weight to shut fourteen rebellious young girls up until the next day. Aside from that, no one sleeps, because the person next door decides she has a lot to tell her roommate that just can't wait. Then the night she decides to quiet down, she blows the roof off because you say Boo! to your roommate. Eventually the whole house is in an uproar, but outside of this nightly proced- ure, we sleep like peaceful babes for unreasonable facsimilesj. Also, Variety is the spice of Life, and if we haven't got variety, we haven't got anything. We run the gamut of emotions yet we get along better than any group of girls living together almost constantly than I have ever seen. We also come in all shapes and sizes, but, sad to say, they seem to increase rather than decrease, with the most excellent food we stuff on. Of course I wouldn't want to leave any doubt in your minds as to the fact that we are perfect angels: so I shall stop a moment on the rules and regulations of our dormitory. We are supposed to be in bed on time, except when we can think up a good excuse or lock ourselves up in some safe place and Wait till it all blows over. We are also required to be at meals on time, and, I am forced to add, dressed, since one or two of us forgot that a certain amount of clothes was required by convention at the table. No hair is to be washed before breakfast or after dinner, unless, of course, we are subtle enough to camouflage our dripping locks and smile beguilingly enough to have it overlooked. Oh, yes, we are definitely the best of children.