St Ignatius College - Ignatian Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

Page 16 text:

THE IGNA TIAN The Autumn leaves are brown and sere And all the paths that brought us near Are fading off, it seems Uur Island home will be the bars Vlfhereon the foam of Cosmic wars llreaks from the guidons of the starsi I'll find you only there. Oh, Life has been a farce to me That turns at last to tragedy, I feel it isn't long to be And I don't even caref' Say, he was right, believe me, Bo: I learned the lesson long ago, And wonder why it is I go: VVhat's born in the bone Is measure of the blood, they say. VVh0? Harvard? Oh, he went away, I guess I'll go myself some day IWith lots of them Ilve known. Wfe hopped the freight for Chi one nigh And I remember now how white His face was, and the fever's light Vlfas throbbing in his eyes, Then, Holy Smoke, how cold it grew. VVhile grim we clung with lingers blue, Across the rods, a foot or 'two Above the snow-hid ties. For hours that were a space of Hell, A horror Dante couldn't tell, Half-frozen by the tempesfs swell, NVE: still hung grimly on: Till, out across the dashing snow, I saw the lights of Buffalo: I turned my head to tell him so- And Harvard-he was Gone: D Gone as a thousand others go, 7

Page 15 text:

A SONG OF THE RQ-ID Ur the Hung snow-drift of the plains Freezes the life blood in the veins Of the unfit, for they That take the fortune of the road Shall know the force of hunger's goad, They learn to write in hardship's code The lives they Hing away. There was one once, a pal l had, And with what clasp this siren mad Held him! He was a Harvard grad XYho'd thrown life for a loss: He had a Hghter's jaw and lips, :X hero's thews like corded whips From shoulder span to tapering hips. Lord! Nlfhat a man he was! lint like those fleeting storms that rise .-Xeross the changing vernal skies, Burned in the blue depths of his eyes, The world-old restlessness, And when life smiledgiklas! How rare He'd sing me songs that told how fair The poet's soul was bound somewhere Beneath the hobo's dress. And many a lazy Summer day, Stretehed on some meadow lawn we'd lay 'XVhile he regaled the hours away 'With tales his fancy drew: He'd conjure from his fertile brain Songs of the forest and the plain, And where, adown the Southern main, The Summer isles are blue? And ever would his poetry steal Back to some fanciful Ideal, An Island kingdomfand Cecile, The lady of his dreams. Cecile, says he, the days are drear,

Page 17 text:

A SONG OF THE ROAD Under the driving wheels: and though He'd lived and died a common UO. Somehow I like to feel That somewhere in the realms of light Life's failures and life's faults despite, His vagrant soul found re-st that night His island-and Cecile. - ie f 5 5:63 In f f 'IQIW7' 7'i5'Wl E19 QQ? 49. 4