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The Spike or Victoria College Review October 1930

Olim Dies Fuit

page 44

Olim Dies Fuit

The slowly-sinking sun now heralds eve
And wheeling, screaming sea-birds homeward grieve,
White cresting, swelling waves which toss and heave
Suggest the name of Genevieve;
So musical—the name of Genevieve.
A mediaeval name perhaps you'll say
Recalling myths and stories half-forgot;
Of knights and squires, fair damsels, barons bold,
Castles and dungeons deep. But, in my heart
That sweetest of all names revives
Fair memories forever fresh and clear,
And tender glimpses of departed days.
Recalling, first, a night of fresh'ning joy—
Tenacity's unmerited reward.
And next a day in Spring a rivulet
Bubbling in noisy silence through a dell;
A mossy crag—a torrent leaping down
Into a fern-girt pool with foaming roar.
An unbridged stream—so narrow yet so wide—
Excuse most apt for age—dead chivalry
To reappear and prove the sages wrong.
Then, memories of springtime's dainty flowers—
Of violets forlorn and slender-stemmed,
Bringing a smile of rapture to her eyes;
And primroses, so fragrant, fleeting, frail.
And then the scena changes—it is day;
A pleasant toiling up a gusty slope;
A desperate search for nature's nectar leads
Our aimless footsteps to a tree-fringed farm,
But all in vain. Again I see a flower—
A golden, glowing broom-bush all on fire,
Providing background for a picture meet
To grace the canvas of an Angelo
Upon a grassy bank a may-tree stands
And memories of stolen blossoms wake.
Again a change—'tis night and, on a hill—
Above the placid haven's waters calm,
Above deluding tawdry city lights,
Which stand for ever—cloying pleasure—pain,
Away from all that's vain and incomplete
page 45 And brutish pomp and majesty of man
Beset by power and folly, idle snares,
And the ever-pouring Acheron of wealth—
There we alone; true setting for romance.
But no! A wish so many times expressed
Remained that night once more ungratified.
And yet—such acts are counted women's wiles
And spared the harsher name of cruelty.
But I digress—let not such gall entaint
My recollections of those happy hours.
Let only Truth with Beauty interweave
Adorning precious dreams of Genevieve.