Peterborough Collegiate and Vocational School - Echoes Yearbook (Peterborough, Ontario Canada)

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forth and invest the beds of rich brown earth with their beauty. She has breathed on the gaunt, naked maple trees and their branches are veiled in a mesh of pale green that gleams in the light of street lamps with an almost un- bearable beauty that clutches at the throat and brings sharp tears to sting the eyelids. On awakening lawns the robins pull fat worms from the damp earth and cheerfully dictate the terms of surrender. This is how spring comes to the city while the blind and deaf poets sit at home and sing of running brooks. Summer Night by MAmON BROWN, sp. COM Earth draws the night about her Like a cloak of jewelled velvet Clasped with sleep. The west wind, weary with his day-long play, Sleeps, pillowed on the distant hills, And dreams of day. Each nodding daisy bows her head And wraps her silver petals close Against the chilly dew. And busy wings are softly folded now, Drowsed by the incense of the cedar tree To dreamless sleep. And all good things that love the day Sleep soundly through the summer night. Then why am I awake? Timber by THOMAS ofxvues, x c mo. Ants. Nestling in a timber clothed valley, hemmed in by snow covered hills lay a logging camp, bustling with activity in the crisp wintry air. Wisps of grey smoke rose lazily from the cook- house chimney into the cold blue sky in which stars still glittered. Within the warm cookhouse long shadows iiitted on the log walls, cast there by the glowing logs be cut into long white boards. A lumberjack braced himself on top of each load and pried log after log loose. These rolled down a log slide onto the saw track where they were fastened down with steel clamps. Rumbling along they came to the whistling saw and as it bit into the soft white wood it screamed shrilly and spat chips for rn a n y in the fireplace. E ' yards. Dropping in- Seated at the long , xv, ,I to the saw-pit each crude table were V ' slab was taken and bearded men, wolf- at 1 -' x Q g a S. by . piled upon mount- ing hot flap jacks 1 5-jpg, Q- 5 'jf ..'i 1 -ff 14251 ing Stacks which sizzling from t h e ' ' ' ' - ' I .,'.,. ' u s h o W e d w h i t e pan, upon which if-aff? .tl ,Hg f- A against th e dark they poured golden , lil, li - K, ,Q A green forest. A blast Syrup from 3 Jar, g I--,QM x Y Q from the sawyard Having eaten they 1-lily ' gf X 5, '3' Whistle told GVGTY' h u r r i e d to the ' Q' 1 ,mba one that a steaming stables and hitched ' -,,fZy X ghngir was Waltugg their teams, then 4iV'1+ IU 9 COSY C00 Y- set out on the trail T, X xN Xxx q, houie. After dinneg to tl 15' b 13 d, wor was resume Longe lgnh irdsoaxlzy S As each sleiglz was piled high. it was' flrrzzrrz off to life ranzpf' and with the ex- stole f r o m each tree trunk as the sun crept from behind snow- laden hills, and clouds of steam rose from sweating horses, only to freeze and settle back to earth. Alighting from the sleighs the axemen set to felling mighty giants of the forest. Saws whined and axes bit as straining men bent be- neath the towering trunks of these forest mon- archs. Soon huge logs were rolling onto the log piles and as each sleigh was piled high it was drawn off to the camp, where the logs were, to hilarating w o r k. huge appetites were again built up. As it came to earth, a warning timber! rang the knell of each great tree, that took a century to grow and a day to fall. Higher and higher grew the piles in the lumber yard as the afternoon wore on. Hanging in the western sky the setting sun again cast lengthening shades throughout the darkening forest. As the last glow faded behind purple clouds, tired but happy men trudged home through the deep, cold, snow, to hearty meals and warm beds. Page N iueteen

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Peter did not need to be coaxed. Incredulous and wide-eyed he followed the gentleman, who led him to a seat near the stage. After his bene- factor had left he began to feel self-conscious. He thought that every eye in the huge building was focused on his worn clothes and untidy ap- pearance. His ears were burning furiously and he knew that his face was red. Today, a dress rehearsal of Aida was to be performed. From the moment when the curtain rose until it fell for the last time, Peter watched enraptured. He was no longer the little boy seated in the audience. It was he who was the king, seated on the luxurious throne. It was he who was riding a great elephant. These were even bigger than those he had seen in the circus parade. Little shivers ran up and down his spine as the tenor voice soared and fell to the music of the sublime aria Celeste Aida. Tears pricked in the back of his eyes as a result of the magnificence of the grand march. When it was all over he paused to recover himself. Almost before he was aware of it, the gentleman who had been responsible for his admission came to him and escorted him to the dressing room of the leading tenor where most of the actors, singers and dancers had gathered. There, Peter became the centre of attraction. They were surprised to find that he was as familiar with the opera as one who had under- stood Italian. When he was asked where he had gathered his information, Peter threw up his head proudly, his face beaming. My father told me. My father knows every- thing. Shortly after dark Peter burst into his home where his parents were sitting in the front room. His eyes were sparkling, his breath was short from running and excitement. I saw 'Aida' 'cause I found a man's money and I can go again and you and Daddy can come with me. All this was said in one long breath. After he had given a more coherent account of his experiences, his mother turned to him and said, Peter, don't you think you should write a letter to Santa Claus? You see, he did not forget. F utility by SYLVIA BOORMAN, XIII A AC. I'd won! I was victorious, A world was mine, a world in which I was the king, the god, the head, A world to rule, and show My might to lesser men. I had but to lift my thumb And bring it down, to crush the man Who even dared to go against my will. No one there was to brook my frenzied passion, My wish was their command, My orders they obeyed as slave a man. I walked alone into the night Exultant, proud, ambition 'tained: The world before, below me lay My footstool, none so great as I, Not even God: I was god, I!! And then I looked up in the sky, The star-filled sky, Infinite, vast .... The stars Unattainable, beyond my reach: Unconquered worlds. And suddenly, I felt So . . . Insignificant. Page Eighteen Spring Comes To The City by MARION BROWN, sp. com. Spring is that time of year when every poet who values his reputation becomes effusive about the joys of country. Settled snugly in some city apartment, these would-be imrnortals dutifully sing the joys of country life. They praise the music of running brooks, the quiet- ness of country nights, the clean country air, and the sweet songs of returning birds. It would be safe to wager that not one of these poetry automats ever got bogged in the mire on a country road because one of the pretty running brooks had over-done things a little, or got to windward of a manure heap on a warm spring day. Yes, the country is very pretty in spring, but it's also darned uncom- fortable. And while the poets hymn the joys of country life, spring comes to the city. She comes without fanfare, or roll of drums, herald- ed only by the shining spears of rain that wash the city streets clean of mud and slush. She invades the city like an invisible army, whose generals are the fat, pompous robins and whose diplomats are the pale gold beams of the re- turning sun. By the time the city awakes to the invasion it is too late to resist, for spring has stolen into every back yard and left behind her a garrison of springing grass and swelling buds. She has visited the city parks and called to her allies, the tulips and the daffodils, to come

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A Thunderstorm by HELEN LONG, X B COM. The clouds W e r e black and menacing. The wind was be- ginning to moan in the tall pines surrounding the lake. A sailboat III near the centre of the lake was being driven by wind and waves farther away from its landing. The wind became stronger and the waves bigger. Then-a flash of lightning and a tremendous crash of thunder, and down came the storm. Peal upon peal of thunder shook the earth and flashes of lightning seared the heav- ens. Though it was still early morning, it look- ed almost like dusk. Branches were torn from trees by the wind, which was now a howling gale. Far out across the sheet of turbulent water a speck could be identified as the over- turned sailboat. The rain became a white sheet blotting out even this blurred scene. Water ran in little rivers down the woodpath and formed little lakes in the hollows. Still the thunder crashed, as if the earth would be rent asunder. How long this kept up we had no idea, but the minutes crawled by like hours. Then the distant rumble of thunder and a soft, regular drip from the leaves proclaimed the passing of the storm. Canada by TED sn-IARP, nx H Canada stands for Freedom, And proud we are of it, We are all for Winston Churchill We're behind him every bit. Canada stands for Freedom, We will fight to the last stronghold, We will fight to the very last man, And we'll not be bribed by gold. Canada stands for Freedom, And stands for Democracy- And we will flatten all oppressors That strive to enslave the free. Page Twenty Moonlight Meditation by vAu.e1'rA BOLTON, ux A In the quiet winter evenings, When the fire has burned down low, I look out through the window Across the fields of snow. And a sort of wonder fills me, As I see the beauty there, Which drives away my Worries, And all my day-time care. For the kindly moon sheds silvery light On the rolling fields of snow, The forest stands all dark and still Within its splendid glow. Like fairy chimes sound sleigh bells, Across the cold air clearg And close upon their tinkling A fox's bark I hear. And this pure and shining beauty, Brings me lasting peace so deep, That magic world of midnight, When mortals are asleep. I Love You by MARY WAITE, XIII A AC. I love you with the freshness of my youth, Which, sparkling, scintillating, dew-distilled O'erflows in all my dreams. I love you with the fragrance of my soul, Close wrapp'd around to comfort you If dreary 1ife's way seems. I love you with the fervence of my life- A burning flame of constant loving warmth To guard you on your way. I love you as a bird might love the air, In breathless ecstacy and zest of life When winging through the blue. I love you as the children love a star On which to wish, and in excitement wait For wishes to come true. I love you as a mother loves her babe, In tenderness-a giving, hoping love. I love you as I pray.