Stadium High School - Tahoma Yearbook (Tacoma, WA)

Page 26 text:

T H E. T A H O M A ASPIRATION ln its bed beside a fern, The lily bud was planted: Reaching upward it did yearn For a boon ungranted. Tender leaflets snugly furled, Nourished by the sunbeams, Soon unfolded to the world Future fame in day-dreams. Lo, it grew and grew and grew, To a height most noble, Till one day there came to view, A perfect flower-like opal. This opal, small yet pure and bright, Crown in the golden hours, Bursts on this Commencement Night, The whitest of flowers. Proclaiming by its whiteness, Its poise and its golden heart, The virtues in their brightness Which our class has won in part. We must constantly endeavor To be worthy of this dower, Which our High School, dearest ever, Has bestowed-from bud to flower. Now we leave the years behind, We must say farewell at last, For the mill can never grind With the water that has passed. RUTH A. WILLIAMS, 'I3

Page 25 text:

THE. TAHOMA ianeirg W RUTH WILLIAMS Poetry Editor A PROPI-IECY lt's been work, work, work, From nine to half-past two, They loaded us down with home work It to0lE' fifteen minutes to do, And we've only had one holiday, Each whole long dreary week through. Oh, yes, indeed, it was awful, We can hardly wait to be free, But mark my words, in September We'll be lwaclf to talfe a P. C. We were quite sure in our first year, We never could stand it four, And when we attained our second, Were glad it was no more, But during our junior and Senior, From habit, we called it a bore. Oh, yes, indeed, it was awful, We can hardly wait to be free, But marlf my words, in September, We'll he lzaclf to talfe a P. C.. NADINE. SOULE., 'I3

Page 27 text:

THE TAHOMA A NIGHT IN JUNE It was moonlight on the river, One lovely night in june, And the water seemed to quiver As the zephyr played a tune. Down the river slowly floating, Came a little birch canoe, It was just the size for boating, For there was just room for two. In the boat sat man and maiden, And he did his love profess, When the bark, quite over-laden, Ended short his fond address. Hard he struggled in the water, With the maiden in his arms, Quickly to the shore he brought her, Saving all her lovely charms. There, amid the whisp'ring rushes, On that lovely night in june, While the river sang its hushcs, To the soft lays of the moon. , Strong he urged his fond affections, In a somewhat broken voice, And she whispered, Predeliction, You are still my birch bark choice! M. H. M., 'l3