Page 24 - To Dragma March 1932

To DRAGMA MARCH, 1932 45

UtE? Desideratum
CORN
By DOROTHY D U N C A N , R/to
The cJHorrow ^Arrives
Why? . . . the question finds its way men,
By G . H . M . , Psi Recurrent in my consciousness.
A little word, it halts the flow
Adrift on a cloud, Of thoughts, and stops the tongues of
Engulfed in a mist, Reverberating through the strains
Gliding thru space Of simple conversation. Why?
With never a list.
Tip-toeing in blue An April breeze with sanguine brnitli
With never a thought, Caresses rows of tulip heads;
Glimpses of Heaven Clean, tall and dignified, the winds
Thru sunlight are brought. Have no avail against their pride;
Vibrant, expectant One day green buds are hard, the next
The morrow arrives An arrogant display of red. I wonder why?
Fulfillment of dreams,
With joy . . . sorrow dies. Familiar sounds of city streets stars
Turn strange with night's dark frown; while
Derelict Break through to compensate day's loss,
And fold the edges of events
By MARGARET Z E L M A M I L L E R , Epsilon About us close and warm. Why does
God grant me surcease from this pain! Night lend a finesse to common forms?
Pluck out my heart, morphine my brain!
Can mortal care—to live or die— Why? . . . the question finds its way
When hope and joy both pass him by? Across the wind-swept prairie lands;
Torn from all things once held so dear, A meadow lark sings clear at dawn,
Like Jesu Christ, they've nailed me here. 1 pause and know at least one truth:
My life, this flesh, is still quite whole When 1 have ceased to ponder, then
They've only crucified my soul. I shall have ceased to live. But why?

The .Moon 3 Shall J\ot gear

By E D N A L E E COOMBS, Xi By VIVIAN E L L I S HOWARD, Beta Phi world,
The moon is a vagabond lover tonight, 1 shall not fear to cross the bounds into another
If only, straight before me, I can see
As he journeys across to the west. Your smile, the tender, wistful smile,
His coat is a torn and ragged cloud That always, in life, you saved for me.

But he's wearing a silver vest. If 1 can only hold your hand, I'll know,
His face is haggard, his smile is wan, As the long dark aisles of death I tread,
Not lovely Dawn's dark wakening shall fright me—
His pathway is very dim. Nor even Death, my dear—though 1 were dead!
He wakens the nightingale from her sleep,
^4 <Prayer
And she sings and sings to him.
By JEAN D R Y N A N , Alpha Rho
divine.
Oh, Lord,
Give me the strength
That I might find
A new and higher aim,
The noble kind,
That I might take
The trite and petty things
From out my soul.
Oh, give me wings
To soar above
This restlessness of mine.
And give to me content
With God, and faith, and love