Oak Grove Coburn High School - Oak Leaves Yearbook (Vassalboro, ME)

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OAK LEAVES DAWN The last hoot of the owl dies away, And pink creeps boldly o'er yon hill- A leaf rustles. A breeze, the herald of the dawn, Over the grass with its secret Hustles-- The secret of a new day. CHARLOTTE QUIMBY. FLOWERETS Tiny flowerets, Hidden in the grass, Nameless waifs, You smile At all who pass,- ' Some that crush you 'Neath their careless feet, Some that love your blossoms Fair and sweet. Patterned f With the shaven grasses green, Forming carpets Fit for any queen, Every day You gently bow And nod, With each Zephyr Sent to you From God. M. C. -i DIANA WEEPS Over the softly rippling water the moon shone in a long path of silver splendor that led to the very horizon and touched heaven. A sleepy cloud wandered near the moon and a sudden breeze stirred like a deep sigh from a distant realm. Into the troubled waters something dropped, disturbed the peaceful night like a low song. A moonstone, clear and glittering, 17

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OAK LEAVES - Since then, Paris. It seems queer that now when I'm so very near Havre, I'm not going straight down the river and embarking. However, the time will go quickly, with southern France, the Pyrenees, the Riviera, the length of Italy, then Switzerland, Oberammergau, Heidelberg, the trip down the Rhine, Holland, and, maybe, a glimpse of England before I re- turn to New York and see you all. The plans for the coming weeks are already taking shape rapidly. There is a movie here that intrigued me, but I think it is better to let movies slip and concentrate on the best plays and operas which one can't see at home. Monday, there will be one of Moliere's plays. Wednesday, Tristran and Isolde at the Grand Opera, and so much more that I will tell you all about when I see you. These are wonderful days I 16

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OAK LEAVES transparent yet reflecting depths of untold feeling, touched the silver waters and was lost. It was a tear of Diana, Goddess of the Moon, shed in distress at the memory of some old but tender sorrow. ..l. THE GYPSY CALL The wind is calling, calling, The wild Wind and the sea, And there's a tugging, tugging In the gypsy heart o' me. Oh, but I must be going, The clouds are scudding free: And they are calling, calling, The white clouds--and the seal K. M. R. ,l...i.i.l-l- POPPY O red, red poppy, I love your very flamboyancy, Your daring, And your utter independence. You are glowing, Burning, flaming With your youth,- You are beautifulg Ah! you know it,- And, without a tremor, Face your God. M. T. C. -1 A TRIBUTE TO MISS BULL Our hearts were heavy when an accident this winter interrupted your wonderful work at Oak Grove and suddenly made us realize more keenly than ever before what inspiration you had given to us ever since you came to Oak Grove. Your living appreciation of literature and magic power to instill that appreciation in us have made us love literature in its finest expression. You have shown us the beauty of words-words that are not used merely to express thought, but which suggest beauty of color and sound. Your interpretation of poetry has opened the door into a realm of music that will .enrich us as long as we live. More than this, dear Miss 18