Page 70 - 1928 Hartridge

Page Sixty-six
PRIZE POEM
I Have a Soul
HAVE a soul, a pirate soul
That longs to sail the main,
To find the gold of buceaneers bold
That long in a chest has lain.
For nix soul, it stirs to adventure’s call
To fght, to dare, to do,
To loot the ships, as the cold fog drips And the sea-gulls screech and mew.
I have a soul, a gypsy soul.
That longs for the winding trail,
To breathe the cool of a forest pool
And feel the biting gale;
And / would hear the rhythmic sound w/
Of a gypsy tambourine,
And count the beat of the dancer's feet Flashing by, half seen.
/ have a soul, a musician’s soul That longs for an old violin
And to play it so—when / draw the bow> I hold men’s hearts therein.
I long to make the saddest smile
And the hardest stoop to cry,
But / cannot do these lovely things. For 1—am only /.
L. H., 2 9