Polytechnic High School - Polytechnic Student Yearbook (Los Angeles, CA)

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THE STREAM R. Matsuoka, S'14. A little stream flows gently through my village which lay like a seam between the pine woods and the great mountains. It starts from the woodland of the upper valley, and collecting many small streams from right and left as it goes on its way, finally comes to our village with accumulative force able to turn the mills. Its water is delicate of hueg crystal is not more clear, the meadows of spring are not one-half so green. To me it recalls many happy memories of the days of the past, and its sweet music still sings in my heart. For hours I used to lie on its grassy bank, and listen to the melody of its various tunes, while my soul seemed to wander far, far away, following the stream where it went. Often I slept by its pleasant murlnuring, and dreamed happy dreams until the sun went down behind the lofty peaks, and the evening winds began to blow from their summit. In the spring when the flowers were in full bloom and the banks were covered thickly with primroses, I rambled along the stream and picked the delicate, pink flowers. When I had made a cluster or two, I sat down on a stone, and one by one I threw them on the water. The flowers were strewn on the pretty ripples, and went downward between the reeds until my eyes could follow them no farther. There, too, were many petals which came down with the foam from above. Sometimes I found peach blossoms, and sometimes cherry blossoms, as well as petals of the brilliant camellias. In the warm days of summer the stream trickled slowly down the very bottom of the river bed. But here and there the tall, green willow trees bent over the stream, and cast their purple shadows on its smooth face. The soft breezes came from far below, and the fresh, young twigs swayed gracefully as they passed by. Many times I visited this cozy place and forgot the hot, weary days. I Then it was a great pleasure to me to thrust my head out from the sweet scented grasses and watch the fish as they swam by. Now and then they floundered out of the shadowy water, and caused its blue to ripple into white. ' Yet it was far prettier in the fall when the woods, touched by the autumn with strong and luminous colors, reflected over the stream as it glided along. Then fallen red leaves perched on the stream like dainty water birds, and E271

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It will be dark for months, the wise ones said. Then to Sir Coeur de Joie a good priest came With heart for heresy compassionate. My son, wilt thou not pray with me? Sir Coer de Joie bowed low and humbly said, I have one prayer. Tomorrow let the sun Shine brightly, let the day be fair. Heist thou no thought of penitence? The priest Was sore astounded. Sire, my prayer Has gone. I did no wrong and so- Ask no forgiveness. That night the heavy storm raged mightily. 'Twas just before the morning when they led Sir Coeur de Joie, half doubting, to the stake. And all the crowding people heard him say, Light-give me light! The flame crept up. Birds called. Dawn broke-the day was fair. THE OTHER NONNE Annabelle 'Wishard, S'15. Another nonne with hir hadde she That was hir ehapelayne, with gentil ye, And plesaunt, comely face and whyte skinne, As thogh a holy radiance from withinne Hadde lent unto hir human features fyne A Christ-like look, which, soothly, was divyne. Ful pleyn she dressed in gowne of greyish hue. A holy nonne was she of greet virtue. Of kindly deede and worde, and noble thoght. Of what was low and coarse she spake noght, But only of the workes goode men do. A member of hir order she was new. Happy she was til hir betrothed lovyer Hadde hir deserted and loved him another. Then cam this mayde to the monastery Where she was loved for hir curteisye And plesauntnesse. Well song she the service And served well hir Lord ek al the day, No trues nonne was ther in al the abbotrye. Hir broken herte hadde left hir soul more free. Mary, she was y-cleped, and like that Virgin Ther was no nonne more pure and free from syn. l25l

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flowed down gently to the town below as though to tell the people that winter draws near. Sometimes in the long wintry nights, I was awakened by the rushing sound of the stream, which seemed to appeal to the mountains of its mysterious source. It ran and sang everlastingly, and to my innocent heart it remained an inexplicable mystery. Whence and whither went the water of the stream, ever coursing downward, and ever renewed from above? I listened and imagined until 1ny boat of fancy was carried away through the darkness to the unknown world. Though I left this memorable place when I was but a boy, the sound of the stream is still heard ever clear and ever serene, and its crystalline water runs ever smooth and ever beautiful in my heart. I23l