AFTER VIEWING THE BERLIN MASTERPIECES The Art Lovers I ' Entrance "I know I won't like it," the wife of the stall, bespectacled man said as she watched the people go up the steps to the Art Institute. "I don't know anything about art. You have to know a lot about art to appreciate anything like... Show moreAFTER VIEWING THE BERLIN MASTERPIECES The Art Lovers I ' Entrance "I know I won't like it," the wife of the stall, bespectacled man said as she watched the people go up the steps to the Art Institute. "I don't know anything about art. You have to know a lot about art to appreciate anything like this," * He shut off the ear motor and glanced over at her with azmoyance. "Is there anything you do like ammore?" he asked. ' . "Well, there's a good show with Bette Davis in it downtown. I wish we had gone to it instead of this. You don't lmow anything more about this than I do. Only you like to think you do." I married beneath myself, he thought, going around the car to open her door for her. "It so happens I paint a little myself, " he‘ said, "or didn‘t you know?‘' "Oh yes-you do paint, don't you!" she said scorn- fully, climbing out. "Two or three water colors that I won't even let you hang on the wall, and you call your- self a painter. Sure, you play the piano, too-a. regular Rubenstein with two fingers." All right, all right, he thought as they crossed the street toward the steps, let her carp. Don‘t pay any attention to her. All she knows how to do anymore is carp. No use getting sore at her. . .Wish she were Genevieve down at work. Genevieve would enjoy going to something like this. "I feel almost like going back to the car and wait- ing for you," she was saying. "What do I went to waste time looking at those old paintings for? Look, it's going to be crowded, too!" . Well, by all means go back and wait in the car. then, he felt like saying. But he didn't. He didn't say any- thing. They walked up the steps with the crowd. The steps were sprinkled with yellow send, although most of the ice had melted from then Already. I wish she were Genevieve, he thought. They went into the building. i a l i J i \ Show less
70 Spring Tinkling in the soft spring air, Music comes from everywhere, And it brings a new spring song. It is so frail; it can’t last long. It seems a web of ecstasy Is spun, connecting spring and me, With one glad song, so sweet and free. Ah, spring! What happiness you bring! My soul is... Show more70 Spring Tinkling in the soft spring air, Music comes from everywhere, And it brings a new spring song. It is so frail; it can’t last long. It seems a web of ecstasy Is spun, connecting spring and me, With one glad song, so sweet and free. Ah, spring! What happiness you bring! My soul is thrilled to hear you sing. Above the earth, above the trees Are clouds—of endless fantasies; Of dancing fairies in the snow, Which left the earth not long ago. My soul soars high on wings of song To heaven’s gate, where you belong. —— EVELYN LANDSVERK 0dr “ 1'” His stately walk, his piercing eye, Caught our respect as he passed by. His nature staunch, his stature straight, Beckoned us toward the golden gate. His comforting talks, his outspoken prayers, v Gave us a glimpse of the Christ he shares. His loving smile, his cordial ear, Turned our problems to heavenly cheer. But now he’s gone, the battle’s o’er. He’s taken his place on deity’s shore. Now we may say, how privileged I— To have known God’s man, our saintly “Si.” DIAL Show less
23 00 Milton? lie/l More horrible than raging Vesuvian vomit, Belching forth with waves of ruin, lies This infernal region of Hell eternal; here Is no redemption, grace, or mercy shown, No joy, or peaceful bliss, only anguish and despair. The howling of countless, scorching, licking flames, As... Show more23 00 Milton? lie/l More horrible than raging Vesuvian vomit, Belching forth with waves of ruin, lies This infernal region of Hell eternal; here Is no redemption, grace, or mercy shown, No joy, or peaceful bliss, only anguish and despair. The howling of countless, scorching, licking flames, As they cruelly torment the souls of thousands damned, Can scarce be heard above the screaming terror Of those enchained. All around arise Sulphuric odors, smoke, and salted tears. And from his lofty throne—where never yet A ray of light doth reach or air doth stir Save from his subterranean furnace —sits The dreaded ruler of all this horrid vale. And each time one, with cry of terrible anguish Would move the hinges of the iron gate, This huge Arch—Angel hurls him squirming anew Writhing within the lake of liquid fire. What hideous fiend, or monster, or rare brute Could bear the heat of this tumultuous sea, This endless range of horror, stench and smoke? Milton, the gods of Hell are living yet! —NORMAN NIELSON DIAL Show less
so he didn't waste any. Take all you want, but eat it all. - Dad was a good far: r.- ijr‘t so was Mom r-md. If only they would understrnd. Ho c9111 do 'tthga. He wasn‘t a kid anymore. He could drive atractor. just as well as anyone. Just give him a chance. It wasn‘t so dangerous as Ha made out. ... Show moreso he didn't waste any. Take all you want, but eat it all. - Dad was a good far: r.- ijr‘t so was Mom r-md. If only they would understrnd. Ho c9111 do 'tthga. He wasn‘t a kid anymore. He could drive atractor. just as well as anyone. Just give him a chance. It wasn‘t so dangerous as Ha made out. 'Gol'y only knows how hard a time he got to do anythizrr, Just luck he got the .22. Thct's why he had to make good today. He had to prove that he could use the .22 right. Maybe then he would get a bicycle, maybe then he could drive the tractor, maybe then. . . A dash of brown and gray above and then a little bird bubbled out its confidence in sang. ’ Chick a dee—dee—dee. The Chickadee trusted him. He was so tiny and friendly. All furry. Nothing; left if you took away his feathers. Nothing but a warm little heart full of friendship. Have some more crumbs. And some meat, too. Hal You climb right up on me for it, just like it was you made me sit down here. You‘re a little giant, you are. Don't fly away. 911, just a couple of feet. Like my gun barrel? Much nicer than an old branch to sit on. I'Jey'be you wouldn‘t be so frierflly with it if you knew what it could do. If you knew. But its time to get away. You can come along; if you want. Through the fame and down the trail to the bog. Come on, but don't get tired. It's a long, long: Way home. He had been to the bog twice before, last summer. Then you had to keep moving; or you would break through into bottomless water. Your feet always sunk in. They made a sucking sound when you pulled. them out. rBhere was lots of brush, not the prickly kind. Most of it was dead. So were most of the short pine trees. Once in awhile you'd come to a wide patch of water, almost a lake. You had to be Careful here. This was where tie ducks went in hunting season. You couldn't get at then .111 here. Hundreds of them used to lie in the thick rushes. You could jump on a tiny piece of land by a dead tree and Watch more trees move up and down later, a. long ways away. Sometime your foot slipped into 7. \‘4 :5: 157‘, v)‘ ’ ‘ ‘ FL: , «53% "71 z a; meeflflfif 'e l A _ ___.,..... mo:va amuisby‘lfimt Show less
I Was Glad It had snowed hard all moming—not the kind of snow that is light and fluffy, like feathers, but the kind of snow that is soggy and wet. I had cleaned my house that morning, and now only one task remained to be done, that of shaking my rugs. I opened the door and proceeded with my task.... Show moreI Was Glad It had snowed hard all moming—not the kind of snow that is light and fluffy, like feathers, but the kind of snow that is soggy and wet. I had cleaned my house that morning, and now only one task remained to be done, that of shaking my rugs. I opened the door and proceeded with my task. As I looked out upon the snowy street I saw a child stumbling, shivering, crying. “Little girl,” I called, “won’t you come in and get warm by my fire?” She stopped crying and came in. Inside, I found a chair for her, and moved it closer to the fire. “What’s your name?” I asked as I began to unloosen her scarf and well-wom cap. “Kathleen,” she said. “Do you live far from here?" “About ten blocks,” she answered. I stooped to take off her shoes that her feet might get warm. She had no overshoes, so her feet were very wet. I laid out her things to dry; then gave her a banana and a cookie to eat. Finally, Kathleen was warm again. I helped her with her coat, tied her scarf tightly around her neck, pulled her cap down over her ears, and started to draw on her steaming wet mittens. Then I stopped. The mittens were in shreds, and at least two or three sizes too large for her tiny hands. “Just wait a minute,” I called as I began to ascend the stairs to my bedroom. Returning, I handed her a pair of my old mittens which I had now outgrown. She smiled with delight as I pulled the soft, dry, white mittens onto her red, chapped hands. “See,” she shouted, as she pointed to her left mitten, “it’s got a red heart on it!” I led her to the door, said good-bye, then watched her trudge slowly down the street. “God bless you, little girl,” I breathed as I closed the door. Then I turned to straighten my rugs and finish my cleaning. Now it was easy to work, for I was glad. —MARIE G JENVICK DIAL 18 Show less
FRAGMEE‘IT Have you forgotten, You, of tired backs And dry lips—— Night juice is :1 fine rubbing oil. It is easy to make. Crawl on a. roughened shadow And strain the darkness Through the moon—- Or squeeze night fog You will remember, then, You, with soothed backs And cooled lips, The peace of... Show moreFRAGMEE‘IT Have you forgotten, You, of tired backs And dry lips—— Night juice is :1 fine rubbing oil. It is easy to make. Crawl on a. roughened shadow And strain the darkness Through the moon—- Or squeeze night fog You will remember, then, You, with soothed backs And cooled lips, The peace of renewal In dark silence. Truth with recur In bold scraps; And dreams quiver From silver pellets Called stars. ~Gladys Garmger IDEAL How can she be so sweet, so pure, So wise, so gay, with life aflane? How came she by the traits that I, So much desire but cannot claim? If she is less than I suppose, God, keep that fact unlmo'an to me. If not in truth, in my mind‘s eye Let her remain what I would be. -—Elaine Olson Show less
Jimmy He’s a freshman in college, but he's always been just “Jimmy.” If you called him “Jim,” you’d be talking about the man he will be ten years from now. He’s everybody's friend, so—by common consent—he’s “Jimmy.” Appearances are not deceiving in Jimmy’s case. It‘s his smile that betrays his... Show moreJimmy He’s a freshman in college, but he's always been just “Jimmy.” If you called him “Jim,” you’d be talking about the man he will be ten years from now. He’s everybody's friend, so—by common consent—he’s “Jimmy.” Appearances are not deceiving in Jimmy’s case. It‘s his smile that betrays his whole personality. To accompany the smile, Jimmy has a typical Auggie heinie, a generous sprinkling of freckles, and an athletic sweater. No one knows much about Jimmy’s past, except that he came from a small Minnesota town, and that he loves trout-fishing, and that he’s a real American boy. He doesn't talk about him- self —he’s more interested in his friends. Although Jimmy is a real American, he doesn’t exercise the American prerogative, “griping.” Often, when I see him, I am reminded of Washington Irving’s tribute to Sir Walter Scott, “Everything that comes within his influence seems to catch a beam of that sunshine that plays ’round his heart.” Jimmy’s cheerfulness never fails him—even in unpleasant situations, as, for instance, an hour before the “Echo” deadline. An ejaculation from the editor—“Another blank space!”—and Jimmy is on his toes, ready to go to Robbinsdale or Richfield for a cut of next week’s convocation speaker. Sometimes I think Jimmy must be annoyed by the assumed sophistication of his classmates, but he seems not to mind even this “new environment where sentimentality is frowned upon by schoolmates who are anxious to affect the sophistication so highly valued by undergraduate tradition,” as Hadley Cantril says . That’s the Jimmy of yesterday. It was this Jimmy who opened PO. box 257 after chapel this morning and pulled out of it a long government envelope. But it was Jim who said, “Well—- tomorrow I’ll be in.” —RUTH WELTZIN DIAL 26 Show less
the Sign A big am wearing a tan overcoat nudged his wife and pointed at a 8151. “Isn't that notice mite?" he said. "What difference could it wire if people did point at then? I can't-see the meaning» of that.’I . - His wife looked at the sign. Wes, it is strange, isn't it!“ she said. 1 young men... Show morethe Sign A big am wearing a tan overcoat nudged his wife and pointed at a 8151. “Isn't that notice mite?" he said. "What difference could it wire if people did point at then? I can't-see the meaning» of that.’I . - His wife looked at the sign. Wes, it is strange, isn't it!“ she said. 1 young men with a notebook overheard then. “Pardon me,” he intruded, “but I heard you mention that sign there. The reason for it is quite irteresting. It seems that at some time or other a fellow was pointing: at one of the paintings when the crowd jostled him suddenly from behind and he stuck his finger right throng: the old canvas.“ ‘Oh. I see.” arid the big man, nodding his head. 'Stuck his finger right snack through it, did be? Well. I'll be!“ He chuckled quietly at the idea. The young man moved army. I'I'D. bet the any that did that felt like a foel,‘ the big am said to his wife. I'I can imine,“ she said. Stile Man With a Golden Helmet ml Isn't this one just perfect 1" exclaimed a pretty blond-haired girl. "I could reach right out and me hold of it, it's so real.“ Ear oompanioh, a. thin girl with thick glasses, wrote in her notebook: “The Men ‘2ch a Golden Helmet-— Rembrandt“. Eben she looked up at the picture studiously. "This is a good example of Benhrendt's thick—thin painting," she said. "Where the light fell strenpst he painted thick and where there were shadows he painted thin. notice how you can seem to see right into am his darkest More?“ 'Ies, that‘s really marvelous.” said the blond 5111. W, I've never seen anything like this before. flint helmet is the realest thing!“ be thin git]. stunned the picture dreanily. 10W owi- um that could point shadows the way Mandi: did,‘ she said. "Such were, secretive Show less
MY HEART A Sr; ‘LL 1260M my heart is meal}. I'uCfl occupied so; elf '0; 2:133:51 ».' w m. ire;‘.:i:~;' "Io-"22:11] tedious 1'1 Li'blo' a ccllfv-I 5. 775.31% :73“; to but will n'o’c 10", 331'. ~ share it with m) for (unbeknown to me) you slip in anbther and therefore 1311 carefully lock and seal _... Show moreMY HEART A Sr; ‘LL 1260M my heart is meal}. I'uCfl occupied so; elf '0; 2:133:51 ».' w m. ire;‘.:i:~;' "Io-"22:11] tedious 1'1 Li'blo' a ccllfv-I 5. 775.31% :73“; to but will n'o’c 10", 331'. ~ share it with m) for (unbeknown to me) you slip in anbther and therefore 1311 carefully lock and seal _ the door and keep you out. v ’ .— 14.. ALLY; KL l. UU_.L ~—James Parke r TIE HIS ER Gleefully, like a miseri- She puts her memories ' Into little rows And fimers them Every day. She polishes The tarnished ones, With cara She wipes away The dust of ye ars, And the sinks: Are the prettiest of all w--H len..~Haul:eness THUS WOULD LEE; '; Like a swirling undercurrqn’c. ‘ 'Neath the surface, neVervs‘howing; Like a palpitafiirg, fervent, Surgent warmth, without glowing; Like a heavy, heady atmosphere We feel but do not s ee; Thus do I want myself to 'be. -""RaymOnd Holden Show less
INTRODUCTION The exact date of Pudinorel‘s Ripple 9: fig Last Wave is not known. The usual assumption by the most reliable authorities places the date approximately within a period just after the Great Gradual Slope-and just before Dapsuapor. Some authorities go so far as to put it immediately... Show moreINTRODUCTION The exact date of Pudinorel‘s Ripple 9: fig Last Wave is not known. The usual assumption by the most reliable authorities places the date approximately within a period just after the Great Gradual Slope-and just before Dapsuapor. Some authorities go so far as to put it immediately after the G.G.S. because of a word in line forty-four, fragment six; group C, which has a connotative implication toward the word "nyantpikth" as it appears in the Indorane in its oririnal A.L.P. (Ancient Language Paradox). Some of the more conservative men of literosity cling to the more probable period, that which is closer to Dapsuapor, because of Pudinorel's relationship*to the Duchess of Waspeormas, who lived at Kre—ant during Pudinorel's period of prolifigation. It is only fair to mention that recent archeological discoveries prove that the papyrus being used, at least in the locatiOn of Pudinorel’s immediate vicinity, the Oleoleolpth Area, was the same as that on which he wrote his Shimmer oi Right Waves, S.P.W. (Sans Pure Water) during his late period that we must place correctly between his Early Late and his Later Late period of his later years. If we accept the former to be true, we would do so only on the basis of its secondary elements of historical backlog; whereas, the latter would be more plausible if we consider the validity of Hertogdike's fiiliotakathaurausis Liberosis. Ouf'denOUncegfiht of either of these would not deter from our deduction—-or inductiOn, as the case may be——that group F of Fragmmt FF 1 is written in the same mood of cohesion as his Apocryphallia, Third Translation. *Note that "relationship" in this sense does not mean proximity. ~éRaymond Holden To the noon, perhaps, and on. To a star, and on, And on, and on, and on. -Raynoni Holden Show less
how, I bound the two pieces together. Now my hopes were high again. Maybe Trixie could be saved, maybe we wouldn’t have to kill her, maybe— The days passed by slowly; they seemed to linger and drag on as do entire years. Not being able to endure the suspense any longer, I started to remove the... Show morehow, I bound the two pieces together. Now my hopes were high again. Maybe Trixie could be saved, maybe we wouldn’t have to kill her, maybe— The days passed by slowly; they seemed to linger and drag on as do entire years. Not being able to endure the suspense any longer, I started to remove the bandage. Scarcer had I begun when I smelled the odor of decaying flesh. That seemed to be the waning of the last hope. Undoing the bandage I saw that the wound showed no signs of healing. Grief-stricken I picked up an old burlap sack near at hand and a heavy piece of iron. Yes, Trixie must die. The sooner, the better. I called my uncle, who fully agreed with me, and so, while I tremblineg held the sack over Trixie’s head, he raised the iron above his head, poised and motion- less, as though reluctant to strike. Then suddenly he let the blow fall, and it struck with a dull thud on poor Trixie’s head. Wrapping her in the sack, I carried her into the midst of the woods where I prepared a shallow grave for her. Gently I placed her lifeless body into the earth, and slowly, so slowly, I covered her with the black dirt. I thought then of God, and dimly won- dered if He had made any provision for dogs to enter heaven. If he did—then my speculation stopped and these somewhat reas- suring words of an old western folk song rang in my ears: “Now if dogs have a heaven Then there’s one thing I know— That old Shep (Trixie), has a wonderful home.” ——JUSTIN TORGRIMSON 21 DIAL Show less
17 My friend Sometimes I feel that I am all alone, With none to share my care or dry my rear. ’Tis then a smile can ease my saddened heart And make me glad that you are close and dear. Sometimes I’m hungry for a word of love, I come with ready ears to hear your voice. ’Tis then I’m glad to call... Show more17 My friend Sometimes I feel that I am all alone, With none to share my care or dry my rear. ’Tis then a smile can ease my saddened heart And make me glad that you are close and dear. Sometimes I’m hungry for a word of love, I come with ready ears to hear your voice. ’Tis then I’m glad to call you my dear friend, That in your fellowship I can rejoice. Sometimes I fear a task I have to do, With trembling heart I come to you for aid, ’Tis then my task is made light by your words And fears and doubtings from my heart soon fade. Sometimes I fall—temptation is too strong I weep and ask forgiveness for my sin. ’Tis then your prayer can cheer my breaking heart And help me fight temptations, help me win. -—NORMA SATEREN RIM/3 Drops of rain ’gainst rays of sun, Tiny prisms, one by one, Gently stealing from the blue, Daring beams to fade from view. Beams, defying raindrops’ threat, Plot a triumph even yet. See a rainbow, dance with glee— Banish friendly rivalry. -—LORRAINE WELTZIN DIAL Show less
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flty Will. . . Not Mine . . . I cried in deep distress unto the Lord, ——Teach me the secret of a life in Thee. He heard my voice And, in His love, With brand of white—hot steel He seared upon my heart His prayer From the Gethsemane of long ago — “Thy will . . . not mine . . ." And now, each dawn,... Show moreflty Will. . . Not Mine . . . I cried in deep distress unto the Lord, ——Teach me the secret of a life in Thee. He heard my voice And, in His love, With brand of white—hot steel He seared upon my heart His prayer From the Gethsemane of long ago — “Thy will . . . not mine . . ." And now, each dawn, He traces with His gentle touch The prayer that means to me hope, joy, and life— “Thy will . . . not mine . . .” — RUTH WELTZIN My Wis/I I wish for you Peace as the Christ Child can give; I wish for you Health and due graces to live. I wish for you Hope for a happy tomorrow; I wish for you Joy to drown every sorrow. I wish for you Blessings in all that you do. This is my Christmas Wish for you. —MARIE G JENVICK 28 , “d-“_. w....._.‘. -— Show less
.A:»_‘. A _,~ “(Ljupziag A J OTTIIIGS IN A J OUle Sunday, Feb. 13: , What are Sundays for? Are they drys for writizg home? Are they days to chat with our friends? Are they days for reading our favorite books, or are they days for catching up on current events? Are Sundays days for skating in... Show more.A:»_‘. A _,~ “(Ljupziag A J OTTIIIGS IN A J OUle Sunday, Feb. 13: , What are Sundays for? Are they drys for writizg home? Are they days to chat with our friends? Are they days for reading our favorite books, or are they days for catching up on current events? Are Sundays days for skating in winter and swimming in summer? Are they for hiking; in the "winter wonderland" or for 'bruising devm the river" in June? Are they dress—up— in—Sunday—best days, or are they days for taking the family for a long ride in the “#9 Ford? Are they days to spend wi th your best been or gal—friend, or days of quiet at home with the family? Are they for the study- ing you should have done on Saturday; days to rest from the worries of the weeks, to catch up on lost sleep? Are Sundays for any or all of these things? Is there possibly any other reason for the existence of Sunday? Couldn’t they be days for worship? Couldn't they be days for singing to the Lord; days of humble prayer for real nourishment of the soul? Couldn‘t they be days for work in the King— dom, for ,helping the needy and comforting the sick? Days consecrated to the Lord, the maker of all days? Couldn't Sundays be all of these things? . Mon Febrm 11}: What do you know—it's Valentine‘s Day! The day of tradition hearts end cupids. It means a lot of things to a lot of people, I guess. In second grade we made our own Valentines-*out of red and white construction paper rationed out by the teacher. When our allotment was gene we used crayola and nickel—tablet paper. In fifth grade I sent 3. Sears- ~Roebuck Valentine to every one of my country-schoolmates. By the time I reached the eighth grade I sent paper hearts only to my girl friends. As a sophomore in mg: school I received valentines from "Secret Admirers"— and several others,_too. When I was a senior I got a beautiful qumter valentine, a. very special valentine. Yes, Valentine‘s Day means a lot of things. And I guess it will never end. I guess fifty years from now my grandsons will still be serxiing‘red paper hearts to the pretty little girls next door." ~Kathm Thorsg'xrd Show less
OWINZD 0 Wind, who with mournful Wnil As passing us by You undulate 'round the crosses of Death, Weep for us. Feign not a caressing hand As lilacs under your hand you touch And stir in the evening mild. Sigh for us. Fling your bouyancy and youth Like the wild strains of a tribal march To those... Show moreOWINZD 0 Wind, who with mournful Wnil As passing us by You undulate 'round the crosses of Death, Weep for us. Feign not a caressing hand As lilacs under your hand you touch And stir in the evening mild. Sigh for us. Fling your bouyancy and youth Like the wild strains of a tribal march To those who crave you. Laugh for usl And when peace like an ointment soothes the powers of will And puts you at rest, Die for us. / Die for us Who in our human ways Squander our rights To pastures pleasant and meadows quiet, And can only wait, Like sun-scarred flowers, For Death. , 0 Wind, Weep for us. -—Deris Swanson BEYOND NOISE I leave the realm of noise And quickly seize The profile of your voice From off the breeze; Then stand impaled with longing tossed Too deep to fade though sound is lost. *Gladys Gamager Show less
shadows." "I've got to write a theme on one of these pictures for school," the blond girl said. "I think I‘ll write about this one. I wonder why he had a golden helmet, though; If it was really made of gold it wouldn't step a sword. Gold is too soft a metal." "The shadows are the thing" said the... Show moreshadows." "I've got to write a theme on one of these pictures for school," the blond girl said. "I think I‘ll write about this one. I wonder why he had a golden helmet, though; If it was really made of gold it wouldn't step a sword. Gold is too soft a metal." "The shadows are the thing" said the thin girl. "The helmet is there just to contrast with the shadows. Don't you like his shadows, Arline?" "Not specially. The helmet is what I like about it. I can't see how Come the man had a helmet made of gold, though. . ." A Still Life “Look at that orange, would you," said a high- school boy to his girl friend." "And get a load of that glass knife handle. Some painting, isn't it?" "I hate oranges," she said. "Evoryday Ma puts an orange in my lunch. I usually give it to my girl friend, but some days she won‘t take it. Then I throw it away. Ick, just looking at that orange reminds me." "But what do you think of the painting?" he asked. "Ain‘t it fine-~snooth, I mean? It seems like it means something. Like maybe somebody was eating breakfast and had to get up and to in a hurry and leave everything laying. Maybe he was a doctor and he got a sudden telephone call that someone was dying and had to leave in a hurry. See what I mean?" ‘ "If it didn't have that orange in it it wouldn‘t be so bad." she said, wrinkling her nose with disdain. He grinned at her. "Do that again," he said. "What?" "Wrinkle your nose like that.“ "Oh, you're so silly!" she laughed. She took his hand and they moved on to the next picture. ~ The Guard A young man called his friend's attention to one of the guards. "Pretty soft lick that guy's got, eh, Billy? Gets to trayel all around with no work to.do besides Show less
THE CELESTIAL CITY A city of stars Lay there ’Before my feet; Smoking sthrs, Burning stnrs, Strrs of fire Building a city, A celestial city Of love And hate And fear; Drifting'up and out Like the tide, With people Like sparks Flitting down the streets Of glittcr~stuff From stars.‘ A puff of wifid ... Show moreTHE CELESTIAL CITY A city of stars Lay there ’Before my feet; Smoking sthrs, Burning stnrs, Strrs of fire Building a city, A celestial city Of love And hate And fear; Drifting'up and out Like the tide, With people Like sparks Flitting down the streets Of glittcr~stuff From stars.‘ A puff of wifid _ Lifts them ; And twists them upwrrd Into the hesvens, Lenying only The essence And embers Of stars.';‘. The celestial city ’ " Destroyed Before my eyes? Oh; no—— _ Only the dying ashes Of a oncc~great straw pile . Burned Beneath deep October skies. “T‘n %% (- Qfl'rnp fin Show less
