South Paris High School - Chronicle Yearbook (South Paris, ME)

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GIVE IN NEARLY ALWAYS Aught I to buckle to the cause And work when things go hard for me? I surely had, for such is life As any man can see. For men are built on such a plan, But few will bend to smooth the way For others as they struggle on Thru life's rough and trying days. The one that gives a point or two And follows as the other wills, Smooths Iife's way as he goes And sugar-coats the bitter pills. Fern Tirrell-'60 SCHOOLDAYS Eight o'clock and I fly out of bed, Can't skip school today or off with my head, So I iump in my clothes and comb out my hair, Brush up my teeth with not too much care. My girl friend behind me is not very far, Getting as shook as a dog on wet tar. Where is my skirt and where is my slip? Where is a needle to sew up this rip? Polish my shoes and find me some socks. Why couldn't we please turn back the clocks? Why didn't we wake up at seven, she wonders, Instead of at eight, and make all these blunders Didn't we set the alarm clock I thought? And then I remembered that I had forgot. Jump into our coats and race down the street, Hoping a friend in a car we will meet, Luck is sure with us, and we're on our way. Ready to start with another schoolday. Katrina Piirainen-'59 YOU O' GIANT MAPLE You o' giant maple in the frosty air, Your bare arms stretched in the firelight's glow You have lived many more years than I. Tell me o' maple, do you fear to die? There may be years of frost and snow Before you pass and go. Tell me o' maple grand Do you love this rough wild land? Do you fear the frost that stings? Do you dread the snow that the north wind brings? Do you long for the spring ere it comes? Do you dread the lightning that harms? You are older than any man today You may live till my children's hair is gray, And they may camp in your giant shade. Tell me o' maple, are you afraid? Fern Tirrell-'60 THE STORM Clouds thicken over the horizon Darkly rolling- Ominous. Gloomy light pales the earth Filmy yellow- Ghastly. Uneasy silence pervades the atmosphere Weirdly still- Deathlike. Clouds split, lightning stabs, the tempest rips Dangerously destructive- Exhilarating. Carol Thom pson-'58 Literature, like a gypsy, to be picturesque, should be a little ragged. - Jerrold

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CREATION Slowly he arose, caressing with his fingers the instrument which he held so gently-then he stared into space, as though fathoming the unsolvable. A deep glow could be perceived, extending from deep within the soul of one intended to create, and his rangy form assumed a relaxed but attentive position. The whole person was a symbol of gentleness and tranquillity. The mulling crowd grew still, mindful of a general transition of atmosphere. Then the youth caressed his instrument again, pressed it decisively upon his lips, and began to create. He was like an artist, expressing himself in colors - bright colors - those so suggestive of youth, and the vigor with which youth is associated. He was like the poet, who detects a way to place life order. In this way he sent words to the people-in the expression brought forth as a result of impressions upon his mind put there by life. Again, he was the story teller, finding paths into men's souls with adventure. He was the musician-creating! The youth expressed himself with complete animation, giving everyone the same feeling and impression of life that he felt. He explained the adventures of youth through variegated colors, by richness of intonation. The concert hall was unusually warm and glowing, deferring an atmosphere of youthful- ness to the world outside. Now the youth began to play more richly, and flowing-sending forth the softer pastels. He was now portraying the richness and fragrance of life-the re-creation. But, then, a dead silence fell over the hall-a silence so intense that it could be perceived by the ears. The tympany rolled, pealing forth their thunderous pleas, grief stricken. Alarm settled over the audience, the youth's countenance evolved from that of a young man to one of sickening despair and emptiness. The colors which he set forth hung like low, dull clouds, or fog along the back of the black, winding snake which makes its way through London after dark. One could nearly perceive the dampness - see the black reptile - as he walked. The atmosphere' of despair was all- pervading. Then the black outline of the snake became visible, its dark depths-unperceived by the on- looker as he stood on the bank of the Thames. The colors generated by the now grown man were mingled, bright and dark flashed before his eyes as fleeting shadows. Then-there was dead silence. The creation had succumbed, for such is the ultimate end of all creations. The youth slept. It is no matter- Enioy the heavy honey-dew of slumber. Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies, Which busy care draws in the brains of men, Therefore thou sleep'st so sound . -Shakespeare Matthew MacGown-'59 AFTER DINNER STORY One day three men had the good fortune of riding in an airplane. Unfortunately one fell out. Fortunately there was a haystack below him. Unfortunately there was a pitchfork in the hay- stack. Fortunately he missed the pitchfork. Un- fortunately he missed the haystack. R. Merrill-'59 THE FUTURE OF AMERICA Rock and rollers you say we are, and I say, yes. Crazy teenagers you say we are, and l say, yes. Reckless and blind you call us, and I say, yes. But we are more, We are the future of America, We are the pent up emotion of generations, We are the scorned mixture of personalities, We are the always searching for freedom and new ways, We are the future of America, and through us She shall live. B. Foster-'59 THE SKY The sky outside, so dark, so grey, O'er everything it seems to lay. So dreary and drab, it seems to blind All sense of light, all thought of time. Its murky depths sink slowly down To trap our soul against the ground. Against this gloom the soul must fight, Till once again it see the light. Agnes Swan-'58 The poetry of the earth is never dead. - Keats

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his iii! ME! Dwight Hall KNATIONM-1 I TY as nh? gr Wafzona .Honor ociefy V' Z 1 l fwfr Brenda Block The National Honor Society is a national organization set u to recognize scholastic achievement in high school. Its purpose to create an enthusiasm for scholarship to stimulate a desire 1 render service to promote worthy leadership, and to encourag the development of character A person is elected to this societ only by a unanimous vote of the faculty after consideration 1 his qualities of service leadership scholarship, and characte Carol Thompson I I H John Simpson An outward honor for an inward toil. - Shakespeara