Seven Hills High School - Yearbook (Cincinnati, OH)

Page 68 text:

IDI I' L, I? S3 7' C3 FV E? OH! FOR THE SEA! Oh, for the sound of the surf and the smell of the sea, Cn the shores of Cape Cod in the country that's free! How I long for the screams of the gulls that soar by, As they dip for a fish or fly high in the skyg For the pound of the surf and the swish of the sea Seems somehow to thrill them-and it does thrill meg For the little white cottage set back of the treesg CHOW those tall pines would sing with the cool ocean breeze! For the porch in the back where my mother cut flowersg The place where I read to brighten dull hours. These things that I long for, the War took away, But I'1l be returning-Illl come back some day To the roar of the surf and the wash of the sea Cn the shores of Cape Cod in the land that is free. Nancy Foshay 9th Grade Cjx f' CQRSAGES She can have orchids Every day From anyone with The price to pay. She pins them to A lustrous fur- But still I vvouldn't Change with her. I Wear no blooms From a florists shelf. But a rose he picked For me himself l I wear his love, For all to see. While she, in orchids, Envies me. Evie Perry IOth Grade page 64

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IMI I L, li fi 1' CD IV I? Homes disappeared. The wind, shrieking, Tore down the tortured pines, And, havoc wreaking, Spread destruction, Sang his savage song of death, Accompanied by the sobbing rain, By the beautiful, cruel lightning. Up rose the sea, Leaping, bounding, Churning the sandy beaches, Destroying, pounding At the very doors of oncefneat summer cottages, Grinding up ships, And spitting them out as wreckage. Nancy Fosliay 9th Grade POME In spite of my humble vocation Erata has vouchsafed no inspiration Of rapturous, glorious, ecstatic elation For a lovely, romantic, poetic creation To exhibit with pride at the end of vacation. Having passed afternoons in deep contemplation Of Roget and Webster and Accentuation, I now have decided that no meditation Will banish this feeling of sad perturbation, And so I'm emmitting a mad ululation. My formerly trusty imagination Having made its departure without hesitation, I find myself blessed with no pleasant sensation Of visual, corporal materialization, And the worst of it is I have no explanation. I can suffer no longer this humiliation, And so I am writing this sad lucubration, For I have resolved after deep rumination To spare my few readers more harsh castigation: I'll stop writing poetry for the duration! Cameron Dill llth Grade page 63

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IVY 1' L, I? 55 7' KD DI li SALUTE TO DEBUSSY Debussy, with your heavenfgiven gift, How my heart swells when I hear your music! You, who were a human musical barometer, Who, not with the fear and fellowship Of a sailor wrestling with a friendly antagonist, But like a divining physician who knew All the multiple fluid emotions and possibilities, Knew and loved the ocean With all its variations, its lights and shadows, Its swells and recessions, its savagery and calmness, Its frothy foam and spray, its oily glossiness, Its stridency and its seductiveness, its limitlessness and its intimacy. Dear Muse, how you knew the sky! The blue clear spaciousness, the flufhness of scudding clouds, The heavy ominousness of stormy weather. And how well you knew the wind, Its soft sweetness in spring and autumn, Its vicious, biting strength and turbulence, Its lull and motion. Revered man of music, how thankful I am For your feeling soul that thought not Of stress and strain in mathematical terms and scientific words, But gave to the world the fairylike impressions upon your senses, Which uplift and overpower me, And just as quickly sooth and lull me into an inexplicable, dreamlike state. I thank the powers that be for you, Debussy, and raise my hand in salute. jane Mclntyre lOth Grade REFLECTIQNS OF A SENIQR QFor eleven years I have looked with longing at each year's Seniors who seemed to reign as mighty rulers over the school. They seem so old and sophisticated in comparison to the young, unassured girls in the other classes. Since all my school experience has been C. P. S. experience, the girls in the upper classes were familiar to me as I progressed along the rough road of the Grammar In Action, numerous geography books, and Adventures in Aritlif metic. It is diflicult, at this moment, for me to believe that the mere transition of a girl from the junior to the Senior year could hold such awesome significance for a shy fourth grader. It is also difficult, at this moment, to believe that I was ever shy. Now that I am beginning the second half of the Senior year I find that there is a little more than glory attached to being a Senior. There is responsibility! The Milestone is a Senior publication which requires many hours of work and effort. Each Senior class prays that it will have enough money to print the literary and art contributions of the more talented girls, the pages of Senior interest material, and, perhaps most important of all, page 65