Jaci Dawn

Eugene, Ore March 31, ’17

Dear Mother and Dad,

     I will try to get your letter off before the middle of next week this time. I have been right busy for the past week. I had to work a good deal in the theater and besides that I had several exams, or rather tests.

     The Easter vacation begins next Friday. I am not so joyous over it as I might be. I will have more work to do then than in regular school time. I haven’t been able to put any time on my translation for some time. I had hoped to put some work on it in vacation but I dont lnow how I can find time for it. The good thing about this busy-ness is the enjoyment I get out of the work itself, and the more work; the more enjoyment in this kind of work.

      I’ll send you some poems in my next letter. I haven’t any type written now and they take up so much room if written in long x hand, that the weigh the letter down too much. The editor of the Oregon Magasine got me to give him some stuff. I suppose he will use it.

End. Lost letter. Dang. I hate that. I tried to research the Oregon Magazine and my great uncle’s poetry, but got no hits. No poems in the letters my great grandmother collected, either. I dug through boxes until I found her scrap book and I searched it for a poem.

I finally sound one written in a different long-hand, and unsigned by whomever was thoughtful enough to send it to her:

This poem was written by Dale in July at the U. of O. He read it to Doctor Sparth (Head of the English dept at Princeton NJ) who was at Oer and who considered them exceedingly good. He advised Dale to publish them. Dale sent them to one magazine and they were returned. He intended to try again with them but I do not know whether or not he did or what success he had.

   He gave me a copy of them and I am sending you a copy in case you haven’t any.

A Sonnet of Hope

Across from plains that scorch beneath the sun,

Seamed with old trench lines where red blood ran,

When men have madly fought, and lost, and won,

There stalks a demon in the armie’s van.

The hordes come from the corners of the world

And as the demon leads, each pigmy man

Hopes a vain hope until his life is hurled

Into Eternity when it began

And darling, I, a dwarf and pigmy too,

Turn with the crowd and act with its wild plan.

Hope my vain hope as all the pigmies do,

And serve the demon as best I can:

But when my thread is cut, my dying breath

Will voice my love for you, in death,—in death