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

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OAK LEAVES GIRLS AND COSTUMES FROM HAWAII-BUT NOT A GENUINE INDIAN MID-NIGHT FOLLIES The moon sails o'er the sleepy land, Bright stars are twinkling in the skyg Light breezes dance a saraband, While aspens murmur a lullaby. The frogs are singing in the fen, The fireliies are bringing light, And all is gay and blithe again Where moon-elves frolic all the night. ARLETTA THORPE, '40 VAGABOND SOUL My soul is a Vagabond wand'ring Which soars to the top of the worldg It bathes in the dew on the meadow And hears the first song of the lark. It lives on the music of brooklets, And climbs to the thundering clouds, Then finally spies a bright rainbow And slides on it far down to earth. LOUI 25 SA SHELDON, '39

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OAK LEAVES branches. Through the calm night, and gazing down with Sphinx-like mystery that faintly pierces the dusky shadows with her luminous light, the full Hawaiian moon watches the scene. Inscrutable and aloof, who can deny that she may be recalling that fierce struggle of long ago when brown-skinned, noble-hearted men bravely Went down in defense of their homes. The crags which tower above send long shadows across the adjacent country and seem to be contemplating the landscape as though they were ancient shepherds watching over their flocks. In the fields at the base of the tall mountains, the vegetation is dimly silhouetted like the setting for some giant opera and after the overture of Nature's orchestra, the action begins. On the right side, against the edge of the steep and damp mountain, winds a road with a strong stone wall along its outer edge. In the darkness of the warm still night, stray autos glide along, winking their eyes as they dodge in and out along the winding road and seeming to play hid-e-and-seek as they appear and disappear. Below the Pali on the beach tonight, a festival is being held. The tantalizing odor of roast pork is Wafted along the beach from a column of smoke that rises in a long lazy spiral, and the folk are laughing gaily. A malihini would wonder what it was but a kamaina would know that those busy natives are eating poi, the main food of the Hawaiians. It is made by pounding the taro root and mixing it with water. The merry- makers are dipping two fingers into their calafbash or bowl which is filled with poi, and then twisting it around their fingers preliminary to eating it where knives and forks are quite unnecessary. The glowing rocks in yonder pit show where the roast pig was made ready for the feast and there is a primeval atmosphere about the feast that carries our thought far back through the centuries of civilization. Now swaying figures are moving gracefully back and forth as they take part in another typical Hawaiian custom. They are dancing the hula, which was originally a temple dance under the instruction of the priests and which illustrates one of the Hawaiian legends in action and song with graceful movements of hands and 'bodies, and with nods and becks and wreathed smiles . Strains of music, melodious and stirring, are chanted in the native tongue by the men who watch the dancers at this lua or Hawaiian feast. There is something so primeval and sincere in the whole scene and something so natural as we listen to the waves splashing, rolling and reced- ing along the beach that as we return to our own homer at Kamehameha we feel that for an hour we have turned back the pages of history to watch the same ceremony that might have been seen here a thousand years ago. LOUISE BARNES, '40. 24

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OAK LEAVES MEDITATION-ON WRITING A POEM I sat, and sat, and sat some more, I leaned on my elbow and looked at the door, I bowed my head and shut my eyes, I covered my mouth and smothered deep sighs, I drew little circles and squares and lines, I stared at my dress and counted designs, I looked at the teacher and then at the clock Which seemed to look down to disdainfully mock. JUNE FRAZER, '38. SORROW He cried because the sun Had found a cloud to rest behind. He wailed because the day Was dark and drear. He bemoaned his fate b-ecause his love Had found a truer friend. He wept, and because of the sorrow Of the present-the light of the future Flickered and went out. ELEANOR IRELAND, '40. i. - MY GARDEN I planted a garden once, long ago, And I patted the earth and loved it so, And I knew that the sun had kissed the seeds, And nightly the star-elves plucked the weeds, Then the moon's tears scatt-ered from out the sky And a blossom opened its little eye. It was most surprising coming that way- Just out of the darkness into the day! I planted a garden once, long ago, I planted it so that wee buds might grow, And now it is crowded with all summer brings I think it has millions of fairy things. A FRANCES CORNELL, '38, 26