Shields High School - Patriot Yearbook (Seymour, IN)

Page 29 text:

15 mdomice O AGNES A. ANDREWS, ' 20 H POPPY-LIDDED lady, who dwells in sleepy state In marble halls and corridors, near Dreamland ' s fairy gate, I sense thy lovely gardens, with lotus blossoms filled. Ringed round with lazy waters from distant lands and hilled. Thou art fanned with peacock feathers, by ebony skinned slaves, While Morpheus with sleep ' s fair dew thine eyelids gently laves. Thou art clothed in shimmering satins, in jeweled gold arrayed, In lazy, lovely splendor, by ancient satyrs made. Perfumed breezes wander, where thy willing captives lie; Insidious slender lady, thy powers can never die! More powerful than the lightnings, or Caesar ' s armed band. You hold the sleepy world in the white hollow of thy hand ! Accept, sweet nymph, this homage, and remember it to be, A token from an idler, a worshipper of thee. SSS ' £

Page 28 text:

T The kindly deeds performed by thee Will be rewarded by his love. The Spirit vanished ; slowly, too, The Vision faded soft away. The clouds took on the darker hue Of autumn ' s fast retreating day. The solitude of mountain heights Brings many visions bright and clear, Which bring to understanding souls The wisdom that we hold so dear. HELEN WOLTERS, ' 20 HE SUN is fading in the west, Hush-a-bye, baby, don ' t cry; The birds are flying to their nests, Hush-a-bye, baby, don ' t cry. The four o ' clocks are blooming now, Fire-flies will soon appear; The evening winds are sighing low, Night time is drawing near. f

Page 30 text:

SIXTY Minings AGNES A. ANDREWS, ' 20 PEAKING PATHETICALLY in its vacancy, the old baU- room stood deserted, forsaken, lonely. A young moon and a glaring street light combined to make it a place of wavering and indecisive shadows. The satin covered walls, the gilded chairs which mutely and forlornly stood about the room, the polished floor, the palms in one end, the musicians platform on which an old piano still stood, all spoke of a happier time. To the observers, peering through the wide doorway from an imitation marble stairway, plaintive ghosts of old waltzes, spritely ghosts of the not so far distant fox trots and one-steps seemed to haunt the familiar room. Yes, prohibition had done for Brad ' s. Prohibition, high prices and wages, waiters strikes, and the increasing value of the land on which the building stood had combined against the fifty-year-old establishment. A few weeks ago the famous restaurant had closed its doors, and tomorrow the ball-room, fondly known and remembered from coast to coast, was to be wrecked. The group in the entrance stood silent until one of the girls murmured, almost reverently — Do you remember Gay Atwood ' s debut, when the walls were covered with screens of roses? Oh — can I forget! cried another. Milt was moved to propose that night, weren ' t you, old dear ? ' ' They had all entered the room now, a congenial crowd, who, after a dinner and a play, had gathered at the old rendezvous to eay good-bye to Brad ' s. The sleepy real estate agent whom they had rudely awakened had handed them the key for sixty minutes — only sixty. Three married couples, a young widow and her pet bachelor, the little sister of one of the matrons and her fiance made up the party dimly reflected in the old mirrors at each end of the room. How many times had those majestic mirrors seen the same jolly crowd, who, coming out at the same time, about eight years before, had stuck together ever since! How many times had they dined and danced at dear old Brad ' s! How often did their memories carry them back to the old ball-room, the scene even of the marriage of one couple present that evening. And only sixty minutes to say good-bye! Suddenly Paul de Gasillac, who had been tentatively trying the floor, began a peculiar shuffli ng of the feet that in the old days had always been his signal to the orchestra leader for a waltz. Milton Fisher, usually an extremely un-