The Plastic Age by Percy Marks (best fiction books to read TXT) 📕

First Half Was A See-Saw Up And Down The Field. Near The End Of The Half

Raleigh Was Within Twenty Yards Of The Sanford Line. Shouts Of "Score!

Score! Score!" Went Up From The Raleigh Rooters,  Rhythmic,  Insistent.

"Hold 'Em! Hold 'Em! Fight! Fight! Fight!" The Sanford Cheering Section

Pleaded,  Almost Sobbing The Words. A Forward Pass Skilfully Completed

Netted Raleigh Sixteen Yards. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

The Timekeepeot

    Cool After Burning Days.

  The Rains

  The Rain Advances Like A King

    In awful Majesty;

  Hear,  Dearest,  How His Thunders Ring

    Like Royal Drums,  And See

  His Lightning-Banners Wave; A Cloud

    For Elephant He Rides,

  And Finds His Welcome From The Crowd

    Of Lovers And Of Brides.

  The Clouds,  A Mighty Army,  March

    With Drumlike Thundering

  And Stretch Upon The Rainbow'S Arch

    The Lightning'S Flashing String;

  The Cruel Arrows Of The Rain

    Smite Them Who Love,  Apart

  From Whom They Love,  With Stinging Pain,

    And Pierce Them To The Heart.

  The Forest Seems To Show Its Glee

    In Flowering Nipa Plants;

  In Waving Twigs Of Many A Tree

    Wind-Swept,  It Seems To Dance;

  Its Ketak-Blossom'S Opening Sheath

    Is Like A Smile Put On

  To Greet The Rain'S Reviving Breath,

    Now Pain And Heat Are Gone.

  To You,  Dear,  May The Cloudy Time

    Bring All That You Desire,

  Bring Every Pleasure,  Perfect,  Prime,

    To Set A Bride On Fire;

  May Rain Whereby Life Wakes And Shines

    Where There Is Power Of Life,

  The Unchanging Friend Of Clinging Vines,

    Shower Blessings On My Wife.

  Autumn

  The Autumn Comes,  A Maiden Fair

    In Slenderness And Grace,

  With Nodding Rice-Stems In Her Hair

    And Lilies In Her Face.

  In Flowers Of Grasses She Is Clad;

    And As She Moves Along,

  Birds Greet Her With Their Cooing Glad

    Like Bracelets' Tinkling Song.

  A Diadem Adorns The Night

    Of Multitudinous Stars;

  Her Silken Robe Is White Moonlight,

    Set Free From Cloudy Bars;

  And On Her Face (The Radiant Moon)

    Bewitching Smiles Are Shown:

  She Seems A Slender Maid,  Who Soon

    Will Be A Woman Grown.

  Over The Rice-Fields,  Laden Plants

    Are Shivering To The Breeze;

  While In His Brisk Caresses Dance

    The Blossom-Burdened Trees;

  He Ruffles Every Lily-Pond

    Where Blossoms Kiss And Part,

  And Stirs With Lover'S Fancies Fond

    The Young Man'S Eager Heart.

  Winter

  The Bloom Of Tenderer Flowers Is Past

    And Lilies Droop Forlorn,

  For Winter-Time Is Come At Last,

    Rich With Its Ripened Corn;

  Yet For The Wealth Of Blossoms Lost

    Some Hardier Flowers Appear

  That Bid Defiance To The Frost

    Of Sterner Days,  My Dear.

  The Vines,  Remembering Summer,  Shiver

    In Frosty Winds,  And Gain

  A Fuller Life From Mere Endeavour

    To Live Through All That Pain;

  Yet In The Struggle And Acquist

    They Turn As Pale And Wan

  As Lonely Women Who Have Missed

    Known Love,  Now Lost And Gone.

  Then May These Winter Days Show Forth

    To You Each Known Delight,

  Bring All That Women Count As Worth

    Pure Happiness And Bright;

  While Villages,  With Bustling Cry,

    Bring Home The Ripened Corn,

  And Herons Wheel Through Wintry Sky,

    Forget Sad Thoughts Forlorn.

  Early Spring

  Now,  Dearest,  Lend A Heedful Ear

    And Listen While I Sing

  Delights To Every Maiden Dear,

    The Charms Of Early Spring:

  When Earth Is Dotted With The Heaps

    Of Corn,  When Heron-Scream

  Is Rare But Sweet,  When Passion Leaps

    And Paints A Livelier Dream.

  When All Must Cheerfully Applaud

    A Blazing Open Fire;

  Or If They Needs Must Go Abroad,

    The Sun Is Their Desire;

  When Everybody Hopes To Find

    The Frosty Chill Allayed

  By Garments Warm,  A Window-Blind

    Shut,  And A Sweet Young Maid.

  Then May The Days Of Early Spring

    For You Be Rich And Full

  With Love'S Proud,  Soft Philandering

    And Many A Candy-Pull,

  With Sweetest Rice And Sugar-Cane:

    And May You Float Above

  The Absent Grieving And The Pain

    Of Separated Love.

  Spring

  A Stalwart Soldier Comes,  The Spring,

    Who Bears The Bow Of Love;

  And On That Bow,  The Lustrous String

    Is Made Of Bees,  That Move

  With Malice As They Speed The Shaft

    Of Blossoming Mango-Flower

  At Us,  Dear,  Who Have Never Laughed

    At Love,  Nor Scorned His Power.

  Their Blossom-Burden Weights The Trees;

    The Winds In Fra-Flower

  At Us,  Dear,  Who Have Never Laughed

    At Love,  Nor Scorned ors--One Of Them,  Alling,  The Other,  Jones Of The Economics

Department. Hugh Was Almost Literally Broken-Hearted; The Defeat Lay On

Him Like An Awful Sorrow That Never Could Be Lifted. Every Inch Of Him

Ached,  But His Despair Was Greater Than His Physical Pain. The Sharp,

Clear Voice Of Jones Broke Into His Half-Deadened Consciousness.

"I Can'T Understand All This Emotional Excitement," Said Jones Crisply.

"A Football Game Is A Football Game,  Not A National Calamity. I Enjoy

The Game Myself,  But Why Weep Over It? I Don'T Think I Ever Saw Anything

More Absurd Than Those Boys Singing With Tears Running Into Their

Mouths."

Shocked,  The Boys Looked At Each Other. They Started To Make Angry

Remarks But Paused As Alling Spoke.

"Of Course,  What You Say,  Jones,  Is Quite Right," He Remarked Calmly,

"Quite Right. But,  Do You Know,  I Pity You."

"Alling'S A Good Guy," Hugh Told Carl Later; "He'S Human."

After The Sanford-Raleigh Game,  The College Seemed To Be Slowly Dying.

The Boys Held Countless Post-Mortems Over The Game,  Explaining To Each

Other Just How It Had Been Lost Or How It Could Have Been Won. They

Watched The Newspapers Eagerly As The Sport Writers Announced Their

Choice For The So-Called All American Team. If Slade Was On The Team,

The Writer Was Conceded To "Know His Dope"; If Slade Wasn'T,  The Writer

Was A "Dumbbell." But All This Pseudo-Excitement Was Merely Picking At

The Covers; There Was No Real Heart In It. Gradually The Football Talk

Died Down; Freshmen Ceased To Write Themes About Sanford'S Great

Fighting Spirit; Sex And Religion Once More Became Predominant At The

"Bull Sessions."

Studies,  Too,  Began To Find A Place In The Sun. Hour Examinations Were

Coming,  And Most Of The Boys Knew That They Were Miserably Prepared.

Lights Were Burning In Fraternity Houses And Dormitories Until Late At

Night,  And Mighty Little Of Their Glow Was Shed On Poker Parties And

Crap Games. The College Had Begun To Study.

When Hugh Finally Calmed Down And Took Stock,  He Was Horrified And

Frightened To Discover How Far He Was Behind In all His Work. He Had

Done His Lessons Sketchily From Day To Day,  But He Really Knew Nothing

About Them,  And He Knew That He Didn'T. Since Morse'S Departure,  He Had

Loafed,  Trusting To Luck And The Knowledge He Had Gained In High School.

So Far He Had Escaped A Summons From The Dean,  But He Daily Expected

One,  And The Mere Thought Of Hour Examinations Made Him Shiver. He

Studied Hard For A Week,  Succeeding Only In Getting Gloriously Confused

And More Frightened. The Examinations Proved To Be Easier Than He Had

Expected; He Didn'T Fail In any Of Them,  But He Did Not Get A Grade

Above A C.

The Examination Flurry Passed,  And The College Was Left Cold. Nothing

Seemed To Happen. The Boys Went To The Movies Every Night,  Had A Peanut

Fight,  Talked To The Shadowy Actors; They Played Cards,  Pool,  And

Billiards,  Or Shot Craps; Saturday Nights Many Of Them Went To A Dance

At Hastings,  A Small Town Five Miles Away; They Held Bull Sessions And

Discussed Everything Under The Sun And Some Things Beyond It; They

Attended A Performance Of Shaw'S "Candida" Given By The Dramatic Society

And Voted It A "Wet" Show; And,  Incidentally,  Some Of Them Studied. But,

All In all,  Life Was Rather Tepid,  And Most Of The Boys Were Merely

Marking Time And Waiting For Christmas Vacation.

For Hugh The Vacation Came And Went With A Rush. It Was Glorious To Get

Home Again,  Glorious To See His Father And Mother,  And,  At First,

Glorious To See Helen Simpson. But Helen Had Begun To Pall; Her Kisses

Hardly Compensated For Her Conversation. She Gave Him A Little Feeling

Of Guilt,  Too,  Which He Tried To Argue Away. "Kissing Isn'T Really

Wrong. Everybody Pets; At Least,  Carl Says They Do. Helen Likes It

But..." Always That "But" Intruded Itself. "But It Doesn'T Seem Quite

Right When--I Don'T Really Love Her." When He Kissed Her For The Last

Time Before Returning To College,  He Had A Distinct Feeling Of Relief:

Well,  That Would Be Off His Mind For A While,  Anyway.

It Was A Sober,  Quiet Crowd Of Students--For The First Time They Were

Students--That Returned