Page 84 - 1932 Hartridge

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Autumn Fair
ACADEMIC PRIZE POEM
HE fair is on; the wild wind screams its wares And fingers them to show the world that stares And gapes their brilliant pageantry.
“Red berries here, given to you free
With every purchase, better far than gold
To hoard and pore over at night and hold
Tight in your palm to give security;
These bring back sights with gold you would not see.
Of trumpets blown and challenges to dare.” “Banners to sell, banners, piercing the air
With crimson and with gold. What though you say, 1 cannot see them’? They are unfurled to stay
Until the winter weather tears them down; They are in the clouds that mass and crown The hillocks over there; in that thin strip
Of flame against the west their edges whip.”
“Sample my paints. Who wants a jar of rust
That has come from changing leaves, or orange, just
Now burning on the bush? Come, who will buy them?” “Rags for sale, tattered bits of silks and laces.
Worn by high-held heads in wind-tossed places.
Oh, who will buy old rags before they go?”
“Place your chances on the sunset glow. Yellow may be lucky, try it in fun;
Some color wins, and yours may be the one.” The wild wind screams on across hill and plain. The fair’s begun; your purchase is your gain.
C. H . , ’33.