Page 35 - To Dragma October 1933
P. 35
OCTOBER, 1933
era
This I Say to You Music
M I L D R E D E . W I L L I A M S . Alpha Phi By E K A N C K S C I I R L S T I N K , Fpsilon Alpha
This I say to you. M usic!
Who young have held an old grief
In your breast: Deep full tones—telling of sadness—bringing
forth tears from full liearts.
You zvho have heard songs Dusky contralto voices
Remember music, Breathing a message of nature's little brozvn
And tvill love apart,
With all notes of singing birds;
That zvill break your heart.
The lilting soprano, rivaling well the oriole's
lovely song melody,
You zvho have seen floods The szveet-singing tones of the violin—more
Of summer's warm moonlight,
Will stumble on beautiful than any—bringing dreams—
Star points and
Blind your sight. love—life—more dreams;
Happy sons—the flute rejoicing—telling of
For they zvho laughter—
Once wet eyelids with The gay tingling notes falling from a pianist's
Hot tears
Will weep on joy-made fingers;
Sorrow all their years.
And then—the cello—violin with the melan-
choly wonder in its notes;
The tenor's questioning—
The bass' seeking—
For a Lover Music !
Of such is the zuorld.
By M I L D R E D E . W I L L I A M S , Alpha Pi Epitaphs Pi
You come to me beside an empty scabbard, By L O U I S E W O R R E L L , Alpha
The strand is severed, and the szvord de- I have a graveyard in my heart
Of little dead ideals;
scended. Some have died a natural death,
The silver cord is loosed, the bowl is broken. But modesty conceals
Within a font gold fragments lie unmended. Others, murdered by my thoughts.
Your face upon my hair is breathing
Salt sea zvind of Carthage unforgot.
My eyes close dozvn against your cheek's edge,
Worn by an empty road from Camelot.
What matter to deaf ears a singing . . . My ideas of both right and zvrong
Notes of songs I have been taught to sing. Were once quite clear to me,
That you find szceet this drugged hemlock Yet now I find zvhat o>nce was zvrong
Is but to me a very little thing. Is right as it can be.
Sleep One tombstone says: "Here lies true love,"
A thing I've contemplated,
liy V I C T O R I A H A N S O N , Alpha Gamma But modern "psych" has since taught me
It's greatly over-rated.
A zvavering mist of nothing,
A silent song on a deaf ear, Another reads "a broken vozv"—
"Thou shall not szvear," it's said.
A soft unseen bugle calling What difference makes a damn of tzvo
Noiselessly from 'noivhere, lulling When we are long since dead?
Us to sleep. But in the farthest corner, Distaff.
In a place quite set apart,
A infinite meadozv of pleasures I find another tombstone,
Scented by absent perfumes, And I cry within my heart,
For it says: "Here lies sincerity."
Lifting us up to unchorded measures
Floating gently to unfound treasures —From The
And to sleep.
