GG POEMS

Poems









By a Young Girl



Written by Evelyn Louise

McCarty



Circa 1935 - 1946

New Year’s Resolutions



I wonder how many of our resolutions we keep

Throughout the long, long year;

I’ll bet not one of them,
And I think my guess comes very near.



I know I’m not so good myself,

But just the same I try;

And who can do more than that,
I ask you with a sigh.



Sometimes of course I’m tempted

To maybe disobey,

And I can tell you it is hard

Not to all that day.


Now let’s all pull ourselves together

For we’ve got to stay alive,

To keep our New Year’s resolutions

Of nineteen hundred thirty-five!


This was the first poem that I wrote for the school paper

at St. Mary’s Elementary School.

Signs of Spring



My heart takes wing in Springtime

And soars with agile grace

Above the white clouds floating

Lazily in space.


My heart is gay in Springtime,

It simply won’t keep still

When’er it sees the hillsides

Yellow daffodils


My heart awakes in Springtime,

It thrills to April rain

And dances through each shower

Into the sun again.



Miss Springtime






Here comes Spring in a gossamer gown,

Rejuvenating both country and town;

On the breeze winging her way.




Here comes Spring in her slippers of green,

Such a rich texture and delicate sheen;

Ready for dancing,

Gayly enhancing each day.




Here comes Spring with a basket of flowers;

For redecorating the earth’s lonely bowers;

Winter dispelling

And she is telling

She’ll stay!

June


June, a month of expectations
For with it are examinations,

Roses, sunshine, skies of blue,
And the green grass covered with dew


O happy month! The song we sing
Is for the happy hours you bring.
Our joy is for the happy day

When we stop work and begin to play.


June is a month that begins anew
A feeling that departs from you
When winter starts his reign again
And casts dark shadows o’er his domain.


O June! A month of happy hours.

Of sunshine and rose-covered bowers;
Of birds’ sweet songs that ring the air
And leave us without worry or care.


A month that brings each one to see
The wonders of God’s great beauties

Our hearts and souls should love and praise
Our God Who made these beauteous days.



Written while attending St. Mary’s Elementary School.

School Days


School days have begun

I’ll say they have and how !

My studies climb right up on me

And pucker up my brow.


In Latin I don’t do very well
My French just “gets me down”
Ancient History is one thing
That always makes me frown.


Algebra is worst of all

With its x’s, y’s, and z’s
They stand next to the numbers
And pop out when they please.


Oh well, things could be worse I know
I’ll do the best I can

I’m not a Senior, Junior, or Sophomore
But just a poor Freshman!



The first poem I wrote for the Comet, the publication begun
by our class at Dominican Academy, Fall River, Massachusetts.

April



April is a month of showers
Of bird’s sweet song so gay

Of bubbling brooks and shaded bowers

A month of lovely days.



And high above the fleecy clouds

In azure skies are seen
The crocus buds push up their heads

Through grass that is so green.



For now, the days are growing long

The skies are never gray

O hearken to the birds’ sweet song
Yes, Spring is here to stay.



Published in the Comet.

Vacation


The clock may strike the hour of seven

But it won’t bother me
For Summer’s here with all her joys
And I shall peaceful be.

Oh! All the fun that I shall have
My thoughts now turn to play
There’s tennis, swimming, and other games
To pass the time away.
My school books are put out of sight

I’ll think of them again
When Summer and her joys have passed - - -
For all good things must end.

My dreams of play which I have built
Are broken when I hear
A voice which sounds so much like Ma’s
That’s saying loud and clear - - -

“Come right downstairs, my daughter dear:
The clock has just chimed eight.
There’s housework which must be done,
So, hurry, don’t be late.”

This speech has left me very weak,
So, all I do is say, “Yes, Mother,
I shall be right down. Work --- instead of play!
Vacation! It’s just grand you say?

That’s maybe what you think;
For I, instead of playing games - - -
Wash dishes at the sink.

Published in the Standard Times.

Back to School



I was quite happy ere these days
My mind from cares was free
I played or worked as I did please
And nothing bothered me.

The sun might shine, or rain might fall
No difference did it make
I’d go to bed so late at night
And then at ten would wake.

Oh!! Never was I quite so gay
The summer was just great
I did most anything I wished
I slept and played and ate.

And now we’re back to school again
We have to “toe the line”
Oh! Give me back the days I loved - - -
The good old summertime.

But things are not as bad as that
Though they may seem that way
For I’m as happy as can be
At my dear school - - D.A.


Published in the Comet.

The Tempest




The wind howled fiercely,

Waves dashed high


Upon the rocky shore.

The gulls shrieked madly

Scarcely heard

Above the might roar.



A rampant Nature


Loosed its wrath

Upon a little home;

The waves wreaked vengeance

Then slid back

Depositing their foam.




Published in the Standard Times and in the Boston
Globe.

The Chapel




A peaceful haven wherein you
Will find relief from care
It’s ever calling you to come
And spend a moment there.

You need not knock to enter in
This beauteous place
Your Host will be most gracious too
Though hidden is His Face.

In silence, sweetest solitude
Your moments seem to flee
In sweet communion with your Host
O might you ever be.

This sentinel of sanctity
Will guard your soul each day
And render you its wisdom rare
To guide you on your way.

O see it beckoning you to come
Its door is open wide
Within your cares will disappear
Just simply step inside.

And once within with simple faith
You pour out from your heart

Your love; and in sincerity

You pray that you may do your part.


Published in the Comet

God’s Will




We have lost a friend ‘tis true


Though who are we to say

That God should not have taken her

But should have let her stay?



We do not know of God’s great plans

Or why our friend has gone


Just let us praise the Lord’s work

And say, “Thy will be done.”



It is hard to think that she no more

Will greet us with a smile


But she has joined the angel choir

To praise God all the while.



Written for a special memorial in the Comet on the death of
Viola Wilson, a Junior at Dominican Academy.

Paradox




My lady moon is sailing by


Through sapphire-studded evening sky;

And she smiles down - - -

So sweet and fair - --

Upon a village sleeping there.



My lady moon is sailing by

But bombers drone through evening sky;


My lady weeps - - -

And sheds a tear - - -

For she sees desolation here.



Appeared in the Boston Post and in the Comet. 1942 or
1943

My Plaint



I would I were in days of yore
But they are gone for evermore’
Yet I can dream
Though it may seem
So foolish.

Ah, then the gallant swains did ride
With beauteous maidens by their side;
On steeds of white
Or black as night
They courted.

“Sweet maid, will you consent to be
My love for all eternity?
Is it I you choose?
Please don’t refuse,
My darling.”

But now the facts are quite reversed,
And I in sadness am immersed’
For gallantry
It seems to me
Is lacking

I write this little plaint, you see,
For I may well mistaken be’
What knight is there
To hear my prayer
And answer?


Published in the Boston Post.



A Knock at the Door



A knock at the door - -
Now who can it be?
I wonder who this is
Bothering me?

It may be a neighbor
Coming to call
Or a newsboy or
Just anyone at all.

It may be a man who’s
Hungry and cold
Or a salesman with
His goods to be sold.

It may be the order-boy
From the store
Who is it now
At my back door?

It may be relatives
From out of town
Or the deliverer of my new gown.
A knock at the door - -
A rap loud or strong

Why must it bother me
All the day long?


Published in the Standard Times.

Christmas Morn




The Virgin’s face alights with joy
While gazing on her new-born Boy
In lowly birth
He came to Earth
For us.

He chose not birth of royalty
No courtiers came on bended knee
Just shepherds meek
Had come to seek
For Him.

The angel choir sang songs of praise
The Bethlehem star sent forth its rays
Of peace and love
From up above.
To men.

Our hearts are mangers for the King
Our prayers are humble gifts we bring
On Christmas morn
When Christ is born
Again.


Published in the Comet.

Moods



I love a soft wind

That whispers through the trees,

And rustles leaves with gentle touch,
And sighs and murmurs

Gentle breeze.

I like to see it ripple brooks

To make the flowers nod in shaded nooks.

I like its delicate caress
Of face and hair.

It brings me peacefulness.

And yet
I love a strong wind

That whips and lashes seas,
And moans and whistles roundabout

And shakes the houses

Bends the trees.

I like to see it twist the rain

And make it beat with evil force
on window panes.

I like to hear it wail and whine

On winter nights,

Though it sends shivers up my spine.



The Doldrums


I’ve been in the doldrums

Many a time

I’ve been on the brink of despair.

And many a day
I’ve been indigo blue

Because of my worries and care.



But all my problems were trifles towards this

And I should let bygones be bygones
Oh, were should I turn

In my hour of distress?

I’m down to my last pair of nylons!



Written shortly before my marriage to James Patrick
Nolan on May 25, 1946.

A Fairy Legend



The March wind blew so hard one day.

A Winter fairy was blown away.

It blew through valley, field, and pass,

And dropped her on some cool, green grass.

The fairy jumped up from the ground

And then began to look around
No scene familiar could she spy

So, she commenced to sob and cry;

And as her pearly tears did flow,

They watered little buds below;

Quite soon the bud’s bright flowers were
Who told the fairy not to stir?

“Till we shall call a feathered band

To show you this fair Springtime land’

‘Tis different, yes, from Winter’s reign,

But you will love our fair domain.”


So, saying they all dried her eyes,

And robins flew down from the skies

To take the fairy quickly through

The land where skies are ever blue.



She saw the flow’ring trees below,

But never once a bit of snow;

And ice there seemed to be quite rare,
For brooks ran on so freely there.



Jack Frost has surely ne’er been here,

For, said the fairy, “See how clear

Each window pane is in these homes;
They’ve never seen frost-painting gnomes.”



Yet stranger still were fragrant bowers,

Instead of snow came April showers.

No hoar-frost fell, but morning dew;
No bleak gray skies, but azure blue.

No fur clothes graced a Spring-time fay

But gossamer gowns were worn each day.

The birds returned her to the dell

Where first the fairy lightly fell.

She quickly sought her friends, the flowers
Awaiting her within their bowers.

The asked her how she liked the land

Shown her by the robin band.

“Oh,” she replied, “It’s all quite nice



Though different far from snow and ice.

For Winter Land how I do yearn!

But in what way can I return?”


The fairies donned their thinking caps,

Till one cried, “This would do perhaps!”

The plan was well received by all,


So, they sat down till night should fall.



And when the moon had come to view

Each sadly made a fond adieu.

The robins sped the fairy high


Through sapphire-studded evening sky

With graceful gesture very soon

They set her on the yellow moon;

And ere the sun should shed its rays

She’d be where winter always stays.


Published in the Comet and The Standard Times.