Wakefield High School - Oracle Yearbook (Wakefield, MA)

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AN ANSWER TO YOUTH ' S LONGING I want so much in life, yet fear to ask, Lest bitter disappointment be my lot. For surely ' tis too difficult a task To find true Happiness, so vainly sought. My world seems empty, meaningless; so drab And lonely. And I cannot be content — Hoping that somewhere there is life more full Of clearer thought, where deeper meaning ' s meant. Oh, does not Life hold more for me than this? Oh, cannot something brighter come to me? Existence filled with purer, saner bliss — Oh, cannot someone give to me a key? Ah, restless Youth, the fields are vast and wide That you would wander in. But do not fear That joy for which you long is by your side, And all you ask in life is very near. When first you find the wealth that ' s stored in books, Then, will you take yourself outside the walls Of commonplace existence. And with books, Contented, you may walk through fairy halls. Jeanette Downing, ' 31. AN APPRECIATION OF A PICTURE OF SLEEPY HOLLOW Oh! it ' s dreams that make a picture, Suggest a romantic vale. And this glimpse of Sleepy Hollow Tells me many a thrilling tale. I ' ve lived in books of romance, Hid blackened ghosts at night; Seen the headless horseman Creep past strips of light. I ' ve hovered over lovers Who walked by silvery streams; Listened to their whispers. Lulled them into dreams. Oh! it ' s dreams that make a picture And form a sweet romance; Or scatter leaves for witches Who, in Sleepy Hollow, dance! Martha Potter, P. G. HOW THE ZEBRA GOT ITS STRIPES The forest was all aflutter From old King Leo down, For what do you think had happened In the little animal town? The beasts had held a council, And voted unanimously That the horses be imprisoned, For they couldn ' t climb a tree. The poor beasts were put in prison, And fitted out with stripes; For their captors were determined To give a sentence for life. Ten days and nights they stayed there. But at last rebellion rose. Is it fair to be convicted? Can we help the way we grow? No! So they planned a way of escaping When the whole town was asleep. And killing the jailer monkeys So they wouldn ' t betray by a squeak. That night when all was silent, They broke their prison bars And overcame the monkeys, Who soon were seeing stars. They all ran down to the river. And with the moon for light. They gave each other duckings And washed off ev ' ry stripe. But wait, did I say all? Well, rather all but one. For one white mare was scared. And didn ' t join in the fun. And all her children ' s children From that day forevermore. Retained their stripes, as Zebras, And multiplied by the score. Lo! All the other horses With lightning top speed ran Out of the woods to the town And were pressed into service by man. Beatrix Salipante, ' 34. ANNE HATHAWAY ' S COTTAGE Oh, little brown cottage, what mem ' ries you hold, What dear thoughts in your heart you encase; What temptations and trials and secrets of old You now harbor within your embrace. Oh, dear little cottage, now what have I done — You have changed, and your lustre is gone; And the smUe which surrounds you and laughs in the sun Has now died, and new sadness is born. Oh, little thatched cottage, what makes you so mean As to keep your sweet stories from me? And within, you are holding the pictures you ' ve seen They are captives; you must set them free. Oh, true little cottage, how kind you have been To those two who made love in your rooms. To tell would have been, as you knew, a grave sin — And a halo around you now blooms. Corrine Doane, ' 31.

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JACK— MY DOG THE FLOWER QUEEN ' Whatcha s ' pose is keepin ' Jack? It ' s way past time thet he wuz back. Sure, I cain ' t figure thet guy out. He ' s sech a gosh-durned lazy lout. Which flower would you choose for Queen? They ' re all so sweet and fair — The star-eyed daisy, the tulip red. The Mayflower so rare. ' Mornin ' ! He don ' t get up till noon, And then he thinks it ' s too durn soon. I don ' t think he will ever larn, But I guess he don ' t give a darn. The rose is sweet, it breathes perfume. Its head held up with pride; But thorns it has, and soon it fades, And drops where it has died. Naw, he don ' t care what time o ' day- Jest all he does is lay and lay. The deepest sleep you ever seen; I jest cain ' t get it through my bean. The lily white is straight and tall And purer than the snow; But lilies are too delicate To stand when strong winds blow. And then at night, why he stays out Until I ' m sick, or nigh about. Jest thinkin ' where thet he has gone. I wish some he warn ' t never bom. The dignified larkspur reflects The blue toward which it towers; But larkspur give no fragrance rare To sweeten summer hours. But then I might as well jest quit And not worry another bit. ' Cause, if he ain ' t out chasin ' ' coon. He ' s out tha baying at the moon! Arnold Dunn, ' 31. DREAMS I should like to go where the white sand drifts In billowing dunes, and gentle rifts; I should like to go where the cold winds blow. O ' er solemn wastes and fields of snow. I should like to go like the pirates of old, And seek for the fabulous Inca gold; I should like to follow the pioneers ' trail Through forest deep, and hidden vale. I should like to go where the wild waves roar; I should like to go where the mountains soar; I should like to go — the seas to explore. The whole, wild world to wander o ' er. Esther Loughlin, ' 32. SUNSET I looked in the lake as I passed by And saw the glow of the western sky; While overhead the Evening Star Shone with radiance from afar. The sun looked like a scarlet ball As it sank to rest beyond us all; And the purple and gold of heaven it seems Was enough to fulfill an artist ' s dreams. Then with a thrill I raised my eyes As if to challenge those gorgeous skies; Slowly the colors faded away. And night appeared in dark array. Ruth Dickhart, ' 34. So, after all, perhaps there is No Queen of Flowers to praise; But each is lovely, sweet and pure — Each in its separate ways. Esther Pratt, ' 34. THE CONQUEROR Black smoke Like Rumor Rises, Spreads out And, lying low. Obscures all With dark gloom. Then clear-eyed Truth Like a fresh breeze. Herald of Spring, Gently drifting On its way From golden fields Studded with flowers. Dispels the threatening horror. Letting the sun Once more flood the earth With gorgeous light. Eleanor Hayes, ' 31. NIGHT The blue gold waters glimmer With the sheen of the glowing moon; And the shadows on the water Sway with the wind ' s soft croon. The dusky flowers whisper. And the dream harp fills the night; The moon paths cut the darkness With their silver strips of light. Ruth O ' Connell, ' 31.

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A QUEEN FOR A NIGHT I sailed in the night through the glittering sky On the tail of a comet of gold; In the day I rode in my chariot Sun, Through the sky like a warrior bold. I ate from dishes of pale blue moons, Sipped wine from a dipper of stars, And then with a sigh, left my dinner, to ride Down the white Milky Way to Mars. I listened to music of silver rain, To the crash of the thimder ' s drum. To the blare of a cornet of lightning And then — silence — the end had come. With a bewildered smile I gazed around. My eyes met a common sight: A bed, a table and a chair or two. But I ' d been a queen for a night. Muriel Sawln, ' 31. RED-BELLIED WOODPECKERS Across the morning ' s sunrise, Across the glowing dawn. Sweeping up the cloud dust Or flying to the lawn. Just a flash of crimson, Just a hint of brown, Playing with the leaves bright Floating to the ground. Pecking in the branches. Or shrieking through the woods, Swishing in the grasses Clad in crimson hoods. Ruth O ' Connell, ' 31. ON SEEING MONA LISA For thee I have but mocking, cold contempt, Thou smug, complacent virgin, born of Art; Impassive, cold and haughty, smiling there. When came the artist ' s inspiration odd. To thus create the bland, immobile you? Insurgent, wild desires obsess my mind — Rebellious and insane though they may be — To tear thy supercilious, scorning form From out its richly ornamented frame; And let those whom thy glance hath often crushed Trample upon thy visage till it be Obliterated and forgotten, quite. Eleanor Hayes, ' 31. SUCCESS IN LIFE Why must I ever onward strain, To reach an undetermined goal. And bear the sorrow, care and pain, That plague my body, mind and soul. In this turmoil of life? Why can ' t I drop beside a stream, And rest in some tree ' s mottled shade. And lie for eons there and dream. In a secluded elfin ' s glade, Free from exacting strife? Why can ' t I watch the nomad clouds, Play tag and chase above my head. And watch the night as it enshrouds, The hill, the forest, and the dead? Oh, in my heart a knife. Why can ' t the wind muss up my hair. And falling rain bedaub my cheek? Or, must I always reap despair As great Success in Life I seek? A farce! ! ! Success in Life! ! ! Stephen Rogers, P. G. MEMORIES Just a little old house on the side of a hill. There ' s nobody living there now. Its windows are dark; its halls are still; Its meadows untilled by the plow. What memories must be cherished there! What secrets with none to tell! Of colonial days and ladies fair. Freedom ' s call, and men who fell! Are you lonely, old house, for the life that is gone From your rooms and your halls and your doors? For the laughter and faces and soft candle light That silently slipped away into the night? The old house is waiting, there on the hill. For those to come back who never will. Its rooms and its halls only memories fill; The old house is waiting — waiting there still. Margaret Fitz, ■32. THIS WORLD This world is such a horrid place ' Tis filled with things so weak and base, I hate to live here any more; My heart so sad is torn and sore. And yet, before my speech is through, My eyes perceive the sky so blue. The snow so white, so clean, so pure — Enchanting world, made by thy lure! This world I thought so harsh and bad Is filled with people, happy, sad; I see that they are tender, true. And Love, undying, leads them through. LOVE A glance, A sob, A smile, A tear, A dance, A throb, Awhile. ' Tis here! Corimie Doane, ' 31.