Malvern Collegiate Institute - Muse Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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THE MUSE MISS DAFOE ISS HELEN DAFOE. former head of the De- partment of History at lllalvern Collegiate Institute. re- signed her position on the staff last summer, on her return from a year's leave of absence spent in travel abroad. to marry Mr. William Martin, and to take up residence in Palma. in the Span- ish island of Mallorca. She has been sorely missed. both by her friends on the staff and by all pupils who had had - the privilege of being taught by her. Of the excellence of her W 3 work in the school it seems al- f' W I most unnecessary to speak: it 2 speaks and will continue to -3 speak for itself in the achieve- ment and in the broadened know- ledge of those who were her pupils, in their intelligent inter- est, fostered by her. in world affairs, and in that most important subject of study. the history of the life of men on earth. What- ever she did, whether teaching or advising the Girls' Club or the Literary Society, she did with all her heart, and as well as it could be done. The part she played in the development and encouragement of the fine school spirit synonymous with the name Malvern . is difficult to estimate fully. She was a teacher who is not easily re- placed. Wherever she came there was life. ROSES Sometimes I think That a white rose Is the pure thought of a young girl And a pink rose Is a baby's gurgling laugh. But a red rose-passionate, glowing Is the love of all lovers everywhere Since time began. -HELEN ORAM. i271

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kgwggggi THE MUSE sudden bright sunlight brightens one side of the trees and casts long dark shadows across the open spaces. Now I count ten villages all in view at one time. pleasant looking places all. That train is dwarfed by the great shadows which it casts. The shadow ot' its smoke wins in a race with those of a long line of Lombardy poplars to reach that winding river. A glance to the west out of our right window reveals haze and dimness but the sunlit View to my left is glorious. As I strain my sight in the endeavour to learn if any cattle other than Holstein. inhabit these iields, the aeroplane lurches but not violently. Is it a gusty wind? But this looks like Le Burget. The propeller slows. The noise decreases. We are descending. Now we are over the town: it comes up to meet us. A burst of speed! Here we are on earth once more. The taxi-ing is rough. This scrawl will be illegible. We cross the circle. rise and fall like a boat at sea. approach the hangars andl VAGABOND .lust a ragged. tattered suit that barely hangs together. But ripening summer fields are lying golden in the sun. And for my bed a hill-top with a soft green carpet The first star for my taper when the pleasant day is done. Not a half-a-dozen coins to jingle in my pockets, But yet as compensation there are moments of delight: That mystic wonder-moment when the dim, blue twilight Is softly overshadowed by the indigo of night. Few are my possessions, but the world is full of beauty: A white beach and the breaking waves with foam-tipped curls, And dawns that come as preludes to the hours of daylight. And tields of flowers that nod and sway like rows of dancing girls. Idle smoke in thin blue wisps from fires I have kindled And little friendly paths that twist and lead you know not where, And owls at night and bats that swoop black-winged in velvet And teasing winds that run their gentle fingers through your hair. I am rich, the earth has set her store of gifts before me. A symphony of beauty. and a pageant of surprise. I choose to be a Vagabond, to tramp foreverg My heart and soul are free, the open road before me lies. -HELEN ORAM. E261

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