Petersburg High School - Missile Yearbook (Petersburg, VA)

Page 24 text:

18 THE MISSILE. THE DREAMER. The sun fast sinks in the west; The day is done. The splendid clouds their glory have shed With setting sun. ’Tis the time of thought for the dreamer, The sweetest hour of repose, When the deepening shadows of twilight The beautiful world enclose. What thoughts will come to the dreamer As daylight fades? What will he dream to-night ’Mid gathering shades? He dreams not of the past. Nor of years that yet be ahead: Of the past he harbors few memories; Of the future naught doth he dread. Then what does he muse in the gloaming At evening tide ? Of what does he dream ’mid the shadows That daylight hide? He dreams of castles and gardens. Of mountains and countries afar. He muses of power and people. Dreams that no care can mar.

Page 23 text:

THE MISSILE. 17 “Yes,” she said in a low, soft voice. “There are lovely walks near that spot, for the woods at Oakland are the loveliest in the world. They were my inspiration, and I shall seek them again to inspire me to other things. And I want to thank you for the happiness you and your fa- ther have added to my life.” When a week later Phil, and Mercer were walking slowly under the trees of Oakland, the latter were again whispering, and seemed even more anxious to meet their lofty summits to protect the two in their walk — through life. Can you guess the secrets they this time were whispering? V. C. Ridenour, ’14. NEW SCHEDULE. The railway train had just put in a tango playing ma- chine. ‘Are we running on eastern or central time?” asked a passenger. “Neither,” replied the Conductor, wearily, “rag time.” FROM ZERO TO WARMTH. Teacher (severely) What will your father say to your low average? Youngster (with hesitation) — When dad sees Fm down to zero he’ll “warm me up,” I guess. THEY WERE SATISFIED. Sunday School Teacher (telling of they deluge) — And it rained for forty days and forty nights. Johnny — Were the farmers satisfied then?

Page 25 text:

THE MISSILE. 19 All dreams may come to the dreamer At twilight hour, As he adds to his castle in Spain Its crowning tower. Naught cares he for the real, Or if his dreams come true; He loves his dreams as they are, Their vanity ne’er doth he rue. But life would be really empty Were all dreams dead. And the peaceful hour of twilight Its beauty have shed. They’re like the mount in the distance. Whose summit he never may reach, Or the ideals that tower above him. Shedding its influence each. So leave the dreamer in peace. And go your way. You may see him once more in the future, Some distant day. For the dream must couquer the dreamer; Some day he’ll seek to attain The summit that once in the twilight He never had thought to gain. M. Francis Drewry, ’14.