. The Rotunda . .—The Va. Tech. WORLD NEWS Poet La.,reate of England John Masefield has been appointedpoet laureate of England. The littleisle is to be congratulated onhaving such a lusty singer. The newpoet laureate has had various occupa-tions, from being a sea cook to act-ing as porter in a New York bar every where he studied life. Nowhe voices it, or rather pens it.—Rich-mond News Leader. I had sworn to be a bachelorShe had sworn to be a brideBut I guess you know the answer(She had nature on her side.) —With apologies to Benny Sluggishness of liver never shouldbe taken for purity
. The Rotunda . .—The Va. Tech. WORLD NEWS Poet La.,reate of England John Masefield has been appointedpoet laureate of England. The littleisle is to be congratulated onhaving such a lusty singer. The newpoet laureate has had various occupa-tions, from being a sea cook to act-ing as porter in a New York bar every where he studied life. Nowhe voices it, or rather pens it.—Rich-mond News Leader. I had sworn to be a bachelorShe had sworn to be a brideBut I guess you know the answer(She had nature on her side.) —With apologies to Benny Sluggishness of liver never shouldbe taken for purity of heart—Rev. A LESSON I thank you for the lesson That youve taught with bitter pain. I thank you for the lesson That has made my love in vain. I should have known that all along You were only making time— I should have known that your said loveCould never be as mine. Yes, I thank you for the lessonThat you taught in thoughtless playFor the next time I will know the gameAnd hide my love PRACTICALS Irologue Prosiac things of wood and of facts streaming before me,Steal my dreams, leave me alone,Clutching the black and white of des-tiny. day long I have been practical;When evening falls—I turn me to the sunset,That I might glean from it,The richness I have I have handled destiny threads so longI have turned them as I would;Now, as the swift rushing of doves at forth from a dove-cote by morningWhirring about the master with velvet wingsSo—the swift onrush of my returning dreamsStifle me with the whirring of their soft wings of fancyBut I can sing once moreShutting my eyes to destiny. EpilogLieProsiac things I still must knowRefuge is not had in futile dreamsDreams must plan as we onward goWith destiny to give back its gleams. F. W., 30 TO MY UNCLE- Somewhere there is true and things I cant quite tell him—But in this heart of mineIhold him close and love himAs he can never knowU
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