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Page 10 THE MAROON TIGER c With the hjPoets SONNETS TO A BROWN GIRL I You are a bright bird flying noiselessly Against the mantle of a painted sky, A thing of beauty far above the sea, Far from the reach of fowler’s hand and eye. Lovely you are, half hid by cloud and mist, Bird of the swift and never tiring wing, Fondled by zephyrs and by zephyrs kissed, Sweet as a dream or litanies we sing. Vainly I watch you from my lonely strands, Wanting you for my cage, alluring friend; Vainly I set my snares upon the sands, Knowing at heart that you will not descend This is my dream: perhaps your tired wing Shall some day to my snares your wild heart bring—- II Lie to me, lady, say you love me true, Say that our hearts shall always beat in tune, Say that my love will always comfort you, As we lay here beneath this waning moon. You have my ears—make haste! for time is flying— (They’ll hold as many tales as seven seas) Fill them to brimming with your clever lying; I have a mood for such sweet hours as these. Since little time is granted here for love, And but a hair divides the false and true, The ages will not think of me nor you, Nor Dust discern the serpent from the dove. So, if you cry: “I love you, lad, and how!” It shall not matter ninety years from now. A Casual Observer. A REACTION The world is too vast For me to explore it, Life too full For me to know it. Lives are short, And so must mine be! Then, as I pass I etch the good and bad I do On life— On the world—- And its busy people! Charles Alfred Beckett, ’33. SUNDOWN AT SUNSET PASS A narrow trail between two black peaks, Whose sides spiral upwards on either side Like grotesque gate posts— Beyond them and off to the left, Only a quarter circle of the sun remains, Slowly sinking behind the towering cliffs Like an up-edged scimitar smeared with blood, Its dying bars flung in long swords Across the hills— Sundown at Sunset Pass. John H. Young, '35. MAD WATERS A NOTION I am afraid to love, For heartaches come too often When one loves. Thoughts come That ne’er should be born- - Thoughts! Yea, long thoughts, Hard thoughts. Thoughts That rush me toward madness. Imagination flies. Into regions unknown And there builds me a world. And (ills it with my hopes. While I stand— Sigh Long sighs, Longing for that world. Such when I love. Then, I am afraid to love. Charles Alfred Beckett, ’33. Bubbling waters down the muddy Mississippi flow, Mad? Foaming at the mouth on either side; Done lost my head, just don’t know where to go, Running as wide as the world is wide. Engulfing all with my ravaging wave Take houses, trees, human lives, too; I am master now, I make man my slave, For all my damages, no man can undo. Look! Lil’ black boy running, praying, looking back At last relief, boat, white man; But no relief from white man ’cause skin is black Sorry lil black boy, do the best you can. To bad cannot save your hide, Nobody told you to get black, you? Never, Only white folks in this boat can ride You ride with white folks? No—good-bye, sever. But me? ha, I am muddy, 1 don’t know color, Me for the boat. Ah, got it, save yourself now, white man—try; But when I get angry, when 1 get muddy, White or black, all must die. E. C. Mazique, ’33.