Toronto Teachers College - Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

Page 48 text:

Farewell These are the days of farewells, days wherein A distant sadness spreads a calm and lends A new awareness, touching long surveyed Scenes with uncommon beauty, as if all The landscape knew that soon it too must fade And fading soars to unsurpassed heights, The longer to be cherished. Once more here Amid the waving grass of these high slopes Or deep in shady fern lined glades where all The towns metallic din is hushed and heard No more. See my native countryside, Forever lovely and beloved, though ne'er With such full heart as now. Beyond The hills the skyline stretches, blue from pole To pole, save for one solitary speck That moves slowly across the wide expanse, Glittering softly in'the morning sun, While in the dancing shadows of a dell A hidden sparrow sings, The pure notes float Along the air, inducing overtones That of a sudden flood the heart. This heart Of mine, uplifted by a ioyous sense Of something vague and beautiful, a life Within, about, beyond, that warms the earth And swells the breeze, and holds the very hills. Steadfast. And all at once the mighty truth Of lifes unutterable vastness looms, Within the whelming soul, and then is gone, Gone with the rustle of a leafy bough, Lost to the clutching mind of man, and yet Withal the warmth remains, though vanished be The source. For in this fleeting glimpse of truth ls life, and hope, and strength to live above The battle. Even as the eagle soars Disdainful of the huntsmans aim and dives In careless disregard so have I learned To look beyond man's selfish greed, and all Hypocrisy's long frozen smiles to new Horizons, calm and pure, where beauty dwells With solitude, where Nature sleep-s beneath The trees, and breezes lisp a lullaby. The golden sun is glancing down upon A sparkling stream, and every sparkle seems To me a diamond wherein shines my soul. I The Warrior Millions knelt and prayed And heard theirchildren cry Amidst the storm of hate in Hitler's raid. THE WEST INDIAN They looked to you. Your voice rang out. That is why 36 An ideal lives and we are free. You cried when France gave up her fight. Courageously you led on so we Could live in liberty's fair light. lt is not easy to be a great man. You know that But now your sweat is passed Be proud in victory and, Unconquered, sleep in peace at last. Tears unheeded fall, for you left dawn, Sleep well, in us your spirit lingers on. SHARRON BLACKMORE

Page 47 text:

Wuthering Annex GAIL PENDLEBURY In sooth, I know not why I am so sad. This strange, sad feel- ing seems to come over me and my classmates as we make our way toward the annex. It could not be that our next class is to be held in this specimen of architectural genius, for neither rain, nor snow, nor hail, nor any inclement weather whatsoever keeps us from taking refuge in this abode to sip the wines of knowledge. The rooms have educational value in themselves. Take, for ex- ample, the telephones which were donated by Mr. Bell himself, iust after his marvellous invention was discovered. And who could forget the clock in the History and Philosophy room which surely must be an invention of the early Greeks. Let us not forget the pea green blinds that give a swirling sound as they wind and unwind, nor the rhythmic sounds which come directly from the radiators and I suppose originate somewhere from the fire down below. Surely the rooms have an atmosphere conducive to learning. Any resemblance between these and a medieval prison is purely coincidental. Surely the pale walls were meant to give the im- pression of cleanliness and not to depress the inmates who have their lockers situated there. The cells, or pardon me, lockers, al- though neatly built in rows seem to form a labyrinth of tunnels which when one first encounters them, seem to cause some con- fusion as to how one should escape from them. One could not ask for a more inviting habitat. On top of all these we have a few special accessories in the annex. Mr. MacKay would never let us forget his antique sink which he informs us is a relic donated by some descendant of Mrs. Noah. Mr. Harrison, on the other hand, would be the first to praise his spacious blackboard which is constructed in such a way that it can be flipped over to give double the writing space. And then there is always the display corner on the second floor in which we display our lively arts. This corner contains a large prehistoric hardwood table which has a design consisting of letters which spell out mysterious messages. All these things give the annex a flavour of its own. Every society has its architecture to represent its aspirations. Greece has the Parthenon, Italy has the Leaning Tower and we have the annex. YE OLDE 5gNK.E A Ai 1 1.-f' f 'lr ,gt ' - 1- '

Page 49 text:

How Many Words . . . How many words have passed through your lips? laughing words, crying words, angry words, tender words words of confusion, of reason, but words . . . How many aromas have flirted with your nose enticing, fragrant, beguiling? How many odours have made you wish you had no nose at all? but still you have . . . And sounds, sounds floating through your ears drifting one along the sea, flying peacefully as a bird. and then the noise that commands you to the ground with a thundering crash 'till your very ears are about to explode. the sound of love in a voice the sound of a baby's first cry the sound of a rocket's ascent . . . the sound of feet marching to war the sound of an old man's last moan the sound of silence . . . And what do your eyes behold? blue of sky, red of rose, brown of eye smile of pleasure, tear of sorrow, grimmace of prejudice, a book's printing, a picture's colour, a film's story . . . a flag, a cross, a gun a white cane . . . and what have you touched? where have you walked? and what will you say, smell, see, hear, touch tomorrow and where, yes where, will you go? . . ,