Desire
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Part of The Carolinian
- Title
- Desire
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- Live To See The Down (Continued from page 17) 'eJire youthful pessimistic sense of life's vanity harrowed him. A few days more and Christmas would be over. The Christmas trees would be stack ed away in the dust-ridden attics. And here he was, his footsteps re verberating in the street; he—the product of the tumult of a modern city. He rubbed his eyes. A powerful imagination caught up with him. He thought; the child sleeping in the haymow is a rebirth. A rebirth. . . In this hour of the night the lights of the city would be extinguished one after another. Soon all the world would be in darkness. . . but there will still be lights, the lights in the sky—the stars. % Some X’mas Beliefs (Continued from page 18) phany are especially dear and are believed to possess the gift of seeing what ordinary eyes cannot see and of hearing music what ordinary ears cannot hear. It is thought that the Guardian Angel of every household becomes visible to one of its mem bers between midnight and dawn on Christmas, but is seldom seen as the exact time of his appearance is unknown. A baby who smiles in his sleep is hearing whispers from an angel. There is an Irish belief that the gates of Paradise are open on Christinas Eve and one who dies on that night directly goes to Heaven without passing through Purgatory. A divination by means of "St. Thomas' onion" is often practised at Christmas time. Girls peel an onion, wrap it in a handkerchief, and put it under their pillows at night. This would show them their true love in their dreams. When the cock crows in the stillness of December night, peo ple would remark: “The cock is crowing for Christmas.” There are the hills for me again, the shaggy cliffs, the sky, And nothing more but pen and ink and inspiration by and by: The green vales, the palm trees, the sea breese breathing; The morning rnists on the hill’s crest before my eyes a-dripping. There are the hills for me again for my heart is fettered there; When twilight shades the sylvan glades, i f hear them calling clear; j And nothing more but dewy nights: the moon splendidly sailing, Few soft strains of home-made guitar, A nightingale a-singing. —Montserrat D. Seno “Life is but a passing shadow”: When we reach the end of noble deeds and friends we must forsake the sun would rise once more and the world will always be. The first gale would soon leave my tear-wet grave a parched, thirsty mound. Beneath the soothing singsong of mournful bamboo trees I lie alone and yet not too alone because in moments of silence amidst your years of life and memories you will think of me. — Angelina R. Labucay Page 36 THE CAROLINIAN
- Date
- 1957
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