SUNDAY, DECEMBER 15 1929
UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN, LAWRENCE, KANSAS
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--and the day,
And all things feel the quiet and the
That comes, when day is done, and the great
spirit flows
Around forever, giving comfort to the
lonely, rest to the troubled heart,
And soothes the saddest one to rest in peace.
—Eleanor Henderson
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--and the day,
And all things feel the quiet and the
That comes, when day is done, and the great
spirit flows
Around forever, giving comfort to the
lonely, rest to the troubled heart,
And soothes the saddest one to rest in peace.
—Eleanor Henderson
Lawrence
We wish the a Merry Chri During your vite you to c you will enjo
THE KANSAN MAGAZINE
SECTION OF THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
Lawrence, Kansas, December 15, 1929
Vol. No. XXVII
No.76
VIOLIN
Under the sob of a quivering note
I hear wind in prairie grasses
In the spring. A brook sings over pebbles
By the railroad track, a sound remote.
I see delicate green of water cresses—
with stretching slim, brown knees
From a hill. An oak birch.
With red across his wings in flocks
Rollicks on a telephone wire.
Under the last leen note from violin strings
Across the pulsing stillness of the air
I sense these things.
Helen Austin
ART BALL
BEAUX ART BALL
Jekking, pleading, lips of scorlet,
Quivring nostrils seeking thrills,
White and palpiting boom,
Sandy dace of lace and frills.
Eager, poised—a student artist,
Slightly swaying in the light,
Lithe and senesous as the music.
Girl turned harlot—for a night.
--and the day,
And all things feel the quiet and the
That comes, when day is done, and the great
spirit flows
Around forever, giving comfort to the
lonely, rest to the troubled heart,
And soothes the saddest one to rest in peace.
—Eleanor Henderson
I wanted to remember
all the black and rainweet nights
all the white and starlit nights
that we loved each other.
REMEMBRANCE
Only can I recall
The night we said farewell
The night that taught me
Love—and indifference.—— Helen Austin
SKY-LAMPS
Up and up and up, I climb
To survey the town.
Tiny, winking, twinkling light
Blink as I stare down.
Then face about I take my
upward way
And look above to see the town
Mirrored in the sky.
--and the day,
And all things feel the quiet and the
That comes, when day is done, and the great
spirit flows
Around forever, giving comfort to the
lonely, rest to the troubled heart,
And soothes the saddest one to rest in peace.
—Eleanor Henderson
Stone grey—my face
My eyes—glazed stone
Hard granite on my breast
And one liver,red, torn, aching thing
That once I called my heart
NIGHT PEACE
Mist and blue haze while the dim shadows gather
Life and Death
Across the valley and the woods and hills.
A star shines out, and a lamp-light gleams,
And all is as stand and gaze.
No, not silent; for there is a rustling and a quiver
Down in the grass and weeds below;
A frog cries and leaves rustle in the
dreaming trees.
While the moon comes up and shows the
world at rest.
How quietly it sleeps, how beautiful, how calm.
Among the trees stalk asking shadows,
silent, dim.
And whisper to the trees nround them there,
and say,
"We've missed you in the shadow-realm today,
Come, join us now in play."
And the trees away softly as they obey the call.
A night bird sings a note, a wing flutters.
And another shadow joins the silent, carefree host.
Bu Constance Ross
Hannah
Far off is now the noise and traffic of the day,
Omit 1.
The quaint little villages of Grundewald, lying in the shadow of the majestic, jacqueline Jumpfruin in Switzerland, was once more alive with people June had come, and with its return hundreds of visitors came to this mountain town. These visitors came to Grundewald not only because of the beauty and grandeur of the surrounding mountains, but also because of the picturesque, red-roofed chalets, the narrow winding streets, and the hospitable peasant们 of the village itself.
Early in the month of June, John and Emily Whitby, traveling leisurely through Europe, found
this little town of Grundeldwald. Their honeymoon had brought them from the noisy, bustling city of New York to the quiet solitude of the English lake district, to the gay life of Paris, and now to the mountains of Switzerland. Tired from their travels over the continent, John and Emily found great joy in the peace and quintessence of this Swiss village. They would enjoy several months in the heart of the Swiss Alps.
ON LOOKING AT A VASE OF DRIED FLOWERS
On that first evening, John and Emily watched the dying rays of the sun cast a lovely rose hue over the tops of the snow-capped mountains. The coming of night enwrapped these peaks in purplish tones, and the glittering snow seemed to bind the purple mountains, and made their covering of ice and snow glisten in the silver light. Enchanted by this glorious scene, Emily clasped John's hands eagerly, and said, "Oh, John, it's just like a night in fairyland. When will you paint this lovely picture, and make it a wonderful pictures in this country."
"It is fairyland with you here, dear," whispered John, drawing Emily closer to him. "I feel as though I could paint anything now. A summer scene would be a real artist. We are happy, aren't we dear?"
(Continued on page four)
Frail remembrance of a gentler season,
Kept for beauty—all suffuring reason.
Standing stiffly in a slender vase—
Like a spirit in a gown of lace
Whoeer wear primly walked a garden path,
all radiant before her winter cake.
Early the next morning, the pessant people of Grundwaldwald saw Emily, dressed in her becoming blue sport outfit, and John, tall and handmade, with a hat and boots. A day's tramp in to the Alpine woods. Noon found the young couple on a wide open space on the mountain side, from which they could look down into the forest.
Warm on the whispering winds of the southland,
Blown from the red coral ides of the sea,
Sweet with the faint purple scent of the sea weed,
Tender and soft, came a love song to me.
Marr.
You were to me
Yellow daffodils
In a crystal vase.
Like a shaft of sunlight
Across the grass
So your laughing
Presence was to me.
TO MARY
I, who had never
known
Delineate grace
Of friendliness
Grew silent. Did
You wonder why?
I was marveling
That such a gift
Should be mine,
Like yellow daffodils
In an crystal vase.
--her white limbs gold
To reflect his arduor, but he cannot move her.
He must count her shining splendor until spring;
he must count by passion dresses in warm,
living dresses.
DIMINUENDO
As scarlet rose petals
Fall slowly, softly
On a polished floor
So the last hours
Of our friendship slip
Quietly to a sequestered place in
And as the last perfume
Of the roses lingers long
After they are gone,
So will our friendship
Remain—
A haunting fragrance on a
summer wind.
-Helen Austin
WISTFUL MATERNITY
The tree is a pale cold virgin,
Respondent in unstained, crystal beauty.
Her glittering branches stiffly
Trace a mystic pattern on the moon.
Tonight she is cold and ghostly,
An elusive reserved mudden.
No bird now slumbers on those frosty branches.
The sun, who loves her, at the morn will tint
living green.
When her bough droop low with ripened anuses.
And in the summer, when her lover long has had his will:
And birds nest among her branches,
She will creak and groan in confidence.
To an evening breeze caught in her thicket,
She will tell that life is heavy, burdened
with sorrow.
with her load of fruit.
She will rattle all her leaves in sighing.
That she is not still cold, pale and virginly
solid with sparkling ice and snow.
--ome
Editor's note—The poetry on this page was selected from material submitted to Rhodamantis in the fall trout.
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