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Show o SCARS. Tomorrow once again the stress, And stab of wounds that leave a scar; And all day long the restless sigh Of the heart that knows its bitterness. I think of it now as star on star Lights in the quiet primrose sky. Gono is the youth that once I knew, Dead the flame that was quick to start; And like the hyacinth bloom I go A thing of wind, and sun, and dew Each dark petal of my heart Stained with an old wild cry of woe. Wilbur Underwood in St. Louis Mirror. O w O One of the most beautiful calendars ever distributed dis-tributed in this city was that given away by the Herald Publishing company. & & & She met him in the darkened hall; Said he, "I've brought some roses." Her answer seemed irrelevant; ' It was, "How cold your nose it." 'Varsity Fortnightly. |