FARRAH GRAJ, ’03 BILL KENNEDY
Obscuring dust falls thick From off the wings of years Which come and go. Some things forgotten are And some remembered still. Those days which I remember Have been separate from these By intervening spaces Fraught with hopes and tears And filled with strivings For the things which life so oft’ withholds.
The St. Edward’s I Remember
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And now I think of that old wooden hall And wonder if it stands there still, Spread low upon its sloping hills — St. Edward’s — when my dreams were young. I feel that if at twilight I could stroll within its ancient walls, I could not fail to hear the laughter Of my friends at play — The college friends of years gone by
I could not fail to hear Their whisperings and sighs O’er troubles they thought insurmountable. That friendly hall would hold Such things close to its heart, And it would whisper them to me And tell me of its loneliness. I have not thought of palaces Wrought from the dreams of genius, With far-flung halls And marble pillars glistening; Nor symmetry of domes thrown to the sky With golden tips, Whose banners stream through sun-kist days And through the star-bright night. I have not thought of fountains playing Nor rose-draped grounds, Through which your student walks today And dreams! — Oliver Culmer, Class of 1889 St. Edward’s Echo, May 1923