Morristown High School - Cobbonian Yearbook (Morristown, NJ)

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HE COBBONIAN 192 Class Poem LAURENCE DoRMER JORDAN Grim and laughing, this is we, in our woolens and our laces, Masks and cloaks and shadowings, solemn glances, gay grimacesg Wise and careless, sharp and dull, silent, smirkish, garrulous, Disillusionable folk-so and so, and thus and thus, Pulling, driving on the hill, each his load, his troupe of asses, Using goad and whip and cord, thus to drive them from the grasses. We've a load to break their backs, God forgive us if we bungle, Like a herd of cattle, deer, antelopes lost in a jungle. We're a world to learn the world, how to lie to it and fool it, How to steal its honey bags, sink beneath it-yes-and rule it, How to sleep beneath the moon, how to steal and how to borrow, How to love the hills at night, how to mould our own tomorrow. There are roads on which we tread in the dark with little ease, Sighing winds and falling rains, yawning graves and gallows trees, With our wares upon our beasts, rotting from the reds to yellows, On long roads that seem to lead far and farther from our fellows. Massy trees and forest glades, brooks, and rivulets, and caverns, Cottages and heavy barns, cobbled roads and welcome taverns, Hamlets, cities, towering towns, grey walls that infest our ways, Cloth of gold and gleaming gowns, joyous circuses and plays, Ladies in rich deepened silks, men in hose and golden shoon, Halls, cathedrals, topless towers, cold and black against the moon. These are milestones of our lives, as we sojourn, sage or clown, Heavy wares upon our beasts, peddling from town to town. Here the pieman sells his pies, there the tinker cries his tins, The ballad monger his poor songs, the buffoon his antic grins. The statesman peddles princely lies, and Pierrot his pantomime, In the mart-apart-apart-distant and all slaves of time. Something breaks and seeks the mud that each had set his hope upon The goads are in the asses flanks, over the green hills and on. 16

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VSEN IUR ,1 FEFITLIRE X 1

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I-IE COBBONIAN l922 Class Record LAURENCE JQRDAN Of Nineteene Hundred Twentye-Two Ye classe thereof wee nowe wylle telle, And, Lord and Ladye, synge to you A Taille of Knyghte and Demoiselle, XYhereof there is of mickle lore, And many legends of their deeds. NYe'll Telle the Trowth, no lesse, no more, And syng of forfeits and of meeds. XYhen in ye merrye monthe of May, The folk be-decked in Howers and songe, Came alle togidere on a day To choose themme leaders fromme the throng They chose with shouts and lowde acclayme Syr Richard Davis commandeerg Sieur Scoble his assistants name And Lady Chadwick financier, And on that day they chose alsow Lilyanne De Baldwinne Secretairy, Forre in the schole as alle menne know Shee is a gallante soule and merrie, Whereon of this first yeere in trowthe There is no moore to telle forsooth. 'Tis the yeere seconde of theire age, Whenne thisse fayre schole did ope his gates Thei mette vvyth alle its equipage, To chosen leaders and his fates, And brave Syr Richard once agenne, Renowned nowe at basket balle, They chose from out of alle hir menne, To bee comandante of hem alleg And lovlie ladie Lilyanne, Yclept de Baldwinne, was hys aide. Lorde Vince Butera, worthie manne, The honest treasurer was made, 17