University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

Page 24 text:

18 THE REDWOOD And no one yet by his folly Hath proffered the glad excuse For me to appear from spectral void Till thou, Earth, by abuse ' Of thy gifts and gems and glinting gold. By thy love of moneyed clay, By the damning, deadening, decadent din Of thy blatant factories bay To the gods of gold, which whines the while Like the howl of a wolf to the moon, Hast invited me to chasten thee With biting whip of ruin. She spoke, and straightway took abode On the fair, full fields of France, And blighted their grace with foul, thin hand As she played her game of chance. The game that only she can win. With men ' s blood as refreshment of wine; And stupid men in their pride of sin To blame her this waste decline. Some blame Kings and a Kaiser some — But ye who are wise well know T ' was Chaos own mother of Cosmos Who deluged our world with woe. W. KEVIN CASEY

Page 23 text:

THE REDWOOD 17 ' ' For those hearts are unto that selfsame breath As reeds that cluster round The marge of some inland, idle lake Where the lone loon ' s cries resound. And the fruit of that hideous blossom Formed by my formless breath Shall be brother throttling brother And bayonets dripping death. ' ' Till nations and men and laws of men, And social illusions, too, Shall chafe at the bit of bridle chaotic And pristine folly rue. Till the wash of the years that wax and wane Shall lave the shores of time With flood of blood, proclaiming my rule Of gore and grisly grime. Till the stars, that in their lightsome course Through the blue, broad heavens wheel. Are fain from the sickening, saddening sight With aching hearts to reel. Still I ' m just above wordly measure. And my hand no race will blight Till its sins and vaunts and vanity Prove it prone to my moiling might. Till the eyes of the years were bleared with age They ' ve watched the hour-glass run In the hands of Chronos, my first-born, — Twin-born with the shivering Sun.

Page 25 text:

Good Cleopatra Arthur D. Spearman. INCE the big game when we humbled Leland, a peculiar association of thought has existed be- tween the little town of Milpitas and room 51 — Junior Hall. In the out- skirts of Milpitas is a rather retiring home standing behind palms, locusts and prodigal oleanders and scarcely visible from the road. In this spot some years ago Claude Ed- ward Adrian first taught his father the pain of a sleepless night and even in his cradle commenced the study of his fingernails. Their culture he has since become familiar with to an amazing de- gree. Claude ' s father was a poet; he wore flowing ties, velvet hats and ate opium. This last perhaps explains the dreamy fingernails of Claude, first and only hope of the family. With a dash and snap that even the Freshmen commented upon as rash, old Bartholomew Buchanan, hereditery baggage man of Valley University, drove through the Alemeda gate amid a chorus of greetings from the Arcade, drew sudden rein on the horse and stop- ped. Did I say Bartholomew was old? He was — nay, antiquated — one of the original Franciscans claimed Bartholo- mew was raised in the mission eleva- tor. However true this may be, he is old, his horse is old, his jokes are old and his wagon too, for that is one of his jokes. At the opening of the 19 — season, Bartholomew, as we have agreed, drove with unbecoming rapidity into the campus and stopped, that is, the horse stopped — too efficiently. Bartholomew made a flying effort, and his load, a moderate sized piano-box, reeled dizzi- ly sideways and crashed open upon the ground. A cry of horror echoed down the Arcade. Not from Bartholo- mew, he was. past the effort ; not from the horse, he stood wickedly calm. The cry was again heard and a small lithe figure ran toward the disordered piano- box. ' ' Oh my picture, my picture ! ' ' shrieked Claude as, burrowing frantic- ally towards the center of confusion, he dashed aside red flannel B. D. X ' s, victrola records and scattered dabs of raspberry jam. Quickly rising he held aloft a Platinum Print: a radiance of beauty smiling demurely upon his up- turned face. ' ' Thank God you ' re not hurt, Marie, ' ' burst from his anxious lips, and over- come with emotion he fainted in the arms of Duke — the varsity captain. It 19