Page 24 - 1917 February - To Dragma

1 1 8 TO DRAGMA OF ALPHA OMICRON PI TO DRAGMA OF ALPHA OMICRON PI 119

280 N . Center, T h e following poem, written by Dennis A . McCarthy, and recently
Orange, California, r e p r i n t e d by The Literary Digest seems especially a p p r o p r i a t e f o r the
Home Number of T o DRAGMA.
December 4. .
My dear sister in Alpha O : LOVE BESIDE THE FIRE

I have been reading November's T o DRAGMA and feel very, happy The pride of autumn fades away on wooded vale and hill,
over it. The days are growing greyer, and the nights are growing chill,
Then, hey for home, and happy eves, and joys that never tire!
I am enclosing two poems which I like very much. T h e y may not Will face the worst that winter brings with love beside the fire!
be what you want for " T h e Quiet Corner" but they at least show my
interest. T h e r e are some poems which you like to m u r m u r to your- Oh sweet as youth the springtime was, and fair were summer's bowers,
self. These are two of them. And gaily flowed the pageantry of autumn's golden hours !
With sadness from the hills we saw their sunlit days retire,
Yours in Alpha O, But winter brings us back again to love beside the fire!
LUCILE R . CURTIS, A, '15.
So bolt the door against the blast and start the cheerful blaze,
SO BE MY PASSING And let us sit, sweetheart of mine, and talk of olden days,
By William Ernest Henley Of days when first you woke in me the dream of young desire,
A late lark twitters from the quiet skies When yet I hardly dared to hope for love beside the fire!
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day's work ended,
Lingers as in content,
There falls on the old, gray city
An influence luminous and serene,
A shining peace.

The smoke ascends *
In a rosy golden haze. The spires
Shine and are changed. In the valley
Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun
Closing his benediction,
Sinks, and the darkening air
Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night,
Night with her train of stars
And her great gift of sleep.

So be my passing!
My task accomplished and the long day done,
My wages taken, and in my heart
Some late lark singing
Let me be gathered to the quiet West,
The sundown splendid and serene,
Death.

(The other poem sent by Miss Curtis will appear later.—The Editor)