The Sophomores
Catherine Francis

Charlotte Jadwin
          The burning soul, the burdened mind.
          In books alone companions find.

Albert Smith
          His blunders never annoy him and he is
          chirrupy under a mountain of mistakes.

Myrtle Lindersmith
          Very oft, when I am dull with care and
          Lightens my humor with her merry jests.

Annabelle Burke
          Oh, daughter of the gods divinely tall.

Edith Stevens
          The laughter of Edith is and ever was.
          Among the delightful sounds of the earth.

Robert Sommerville
          His dark persive eye
          Speaks the high soul, the thought sublime
          That dwells on immortality.

Olga Faure
          Give her health and a day, and she will
          make ridiculous the pomp of emperors.

Ruth Hackenburg
          Dignity and love do not blend well or
          continue long together.

Yolande Faure
          Ah, how the soft blushes tinge her cheek!

Carl Naylor
          He doth nothing but frown as who should
          say, and if you will not have me, choose,
          and hears merry tales and smiles not.

Franklin Johnson
          Diffidence and awkwardness are the two
          antidotes to love.

Daniel McNeil
          His curly locks crown his head.

The Song of Spring
Jean P. Jervey, '13.

When spring time wakes on hill and dale
It enters the gypsy blood.
It sings the song of pass and trail,
It sings of the good green wood.
It wakes the wand'ring soul again.
It sends us forth from the haunts of men;
And the sun will shine and the moon will wane
On our twisting path e'er we turn again,
And lay us down in peach.
South we follow the Romany road,
Or North over heath and healther;
It mataters not where-but to us is a goal
The voice of the spring time weather.
Wherever the gypsy blood may run
No matter the wide world over,
Though we bask in the warmth of a tropical sun,
Or lie in the sweet spring clover,
The longing comes to us one and all,
So strong, and so wild, and so sweet;
And it's Oh! to roam till the brown leaves fall
With the trail running free neath our feet.
The spring time calls to the gypsy heart,
It calls, and we dare not stay,
It calls to the soul in every part,
"Gypsy, up and away."

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