The Athenaeum. (Atlanta, GA) 1898-1925, January 01, 1925, Image 6
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THE ATHENAEUM
Now swiftly Luna sails in open sky
To hide her countenance in yonder cloud,
Violently weeping, for she dares not try
To bid Autumn farewell; she is too proud
To let herself be seen lamenting long and loud.
“Farewell, farewell to Autumn and farewell!”
Reverberates incessantly in air.
What earthly power could this expression quell?
This essence era tic, this deep despair?
This voice stupendous sounding everywhere?
Alas! Ceres no longer can defy
The king of seasons and his frosty airs.
Scarce Autumn leaves when Winter drawing nigh
With Morpheus, makes Ceres once more barren and dry.
—0. E. Jackson, ’28.
THE ATHENAEUM
Go thou, take wings and go
Where hearts are gayly singing
To sighing mortals here below—
Tell them of our upspringing.
Sing of our noble name,
And scatter far our fame.
She went,
A maiden won by tricky love
Or flirting phrase, and raised
By words high as the skies above.
She trusted him, that praised
With Sinon’s tongue, as she obeyed
And tried his fame to tell—
He turned and from his bond he fled,
And credulous, the maiden fell.
—Gardy Farley, Ac. ’25.
AUTUMN SIN
It rains,
The oak tree drops its golden leaves
And I my sparkling line of thought;
For who can think in sunshine mood
With window near
To see and hear
It rain, rain, rain?
Who would show ingratitude
And turn a heedless ear
To the music of November’s falling
rain?
Its drolling song I cannot slight,
For to me it brings along
An hour of perfect peace;
I close my book, incline my head,
And on its airs I drift.
My eyes are steady, deep, and large,
And gazing on the wall,
Your picture is there
And from it fall
Memories of you—dreams of my child
hood days.
My eyes closed, my book dropped to the
floor;
When I awoke ‘twas four o’clock,
The rain had stopped,
And I had cut my class.
But mother,
When the marks come home
And you learn of the class I’ve cut,
Remember ‘twas no un-godly cut,
No rash departure from thy ways,
No vile premeditated wrong;
Just remember that it rained,
I thought of you,
And then I dreamed.
—Martin W. Hawkins, ’25.