Paul Laurence Dunbar

Do' a-stan'in' on a jar, fiah a-shinin' thoo, Ol' folks drowsin' 'roun' de place, wide awake is Lou, W'en I tap, she answeh, an' I see huh 'mence to grin,

Daih 's a moughty soothin' feelin' Hits a dahky man, 'Long to'ds night.

De axes has been ringin' in de woods de blessid day, An' de chips has been a-fallin' fa' an' thick; Dey has cut de bigges' hick'ry dat de mules kin tote away,

Oh, dere 's lots o' keer an' trouble In dis world to swaller down; An' ol' Sorrer 's purty lively

Oh, I have n't got long to live, for we all Die soon, e'en those who live longest; And the poorest and weakest are taking their chance

'Tis fine to play In the fragrant hay, And romp on the golden load;

Come, essay a sprightly measure, Tuned to some light song of pleasure. Maidens, let your brows be crowned

Whut you say, dah? huh, uh! chile, You 's enough to dribe me wile. Want a sto'y; jes' hyeah dat!

"Break me my bounds, and let me fly To regions vast of boundless sky; Nor I, like piteous Daphne, be

They please me not--these solemn songs That hint of sermons covered up. 'Tis true the world should heed its wrongs,

De win' is blowin' wahmah, An hit's blowin' f'om de bay; Dey's a so't o' mist a-risin'

Uncle John, he makes me tired; Thinks 'at he's jest so all-fired Smart, 'at he kin pick up, so,

Yes, my ha't 's ez ha'd ez stone-- Go 'way, Sam, an' lemme 'lone. No; I ain't gwine change my min'--

On the wide veranda white, In the purple failing light, Sits the master while the sun is lowly burning;

Lay me down beneaf de willers in de grass, Whah de branch 'll go a-singin' as it pass. An' w'en I 's a-layin' low,

The air is dark, the sky is gray, The misty shadows come and go, And here within my dusky room

Win' a-blowin' gentle so de san' lay low, San' a little heavy f'om de rain, All de pa'ms a-wavin' an' a-weavin' slow,

Swing yo' lady roun' an' roun', Do de bes' you know; Mek yo' bow an' p'omenade

I found you and I lost you, All on a gleaming day. The day was rilled with sunshine,

Wen de snow 's a-fallin' An' de win' is col'. Mammy 'mence a-callin',

Lead gently, Lord, and slow, For oh, my steps are weak, And ever as I go,

The trees bend down along the stream, Where anchored swings my tiny boat. The day is one to drowse and dream

Dear Miss Lucy: I been t'inkin' dat I 'd write you long fo' dis, But dis writin' 's mighty tejous, an' you know jes' how it is. But I 's got a little lesure, so I teks my pen in han'

De win' is hollahin' "Daih you" to de shuttahs an' de fiah, De snow's a-sayin' "Got you" to de groun', Fu' de wintah weathah 's come widout a-askin' ouah desiah,

Ah, I have changed, I do not know Why lonely hours affect me so. In days of yore, this were not wont,

Oh, I des received a letter f'om de sweetest little gal; Oh, my; oh, my. She's my lovely little sweetheart an' her name is Sal:

Ah, love, my love is like a cry in the night, A long, loud cry to the empty sky, The cry of a man alone in the desert,

My lady love lives far away, And oh my heart is sad by day, And ah my tears fall fast by night,

Dream days of fond delight and hours As rosy-hued as dawn, are mine. Love's drowsy wine,

Heart of my heart, the day is chill, The mist hangs low o'er the wooded hill, The soft white mist and the heavy cloud

Outside the rain upon the street, The sky all grim of hue, Inside, the music-painful sweet,

Seen my lady home las' night, Jump back, honey, jump back. Hel' huh han' an' sque'z it tight,

De trees is bendin' in de sto'm, De rain done hid de mountain's fo'm, I 's 'lone an' in distress.

Hain't you see my Mandy Lou, Is it true? Whaih you been f'om day to day,

Treat me nice, Miss Mandy Jane, Treat me nice. Dough my love has tu'ned my brain,

O Lord, the hard-won miles Have worn my stumbling feet: Oh, soothe me with thy smiles,

Mastah drink his ol' Made'a, Missy drink huh sherry wine, Ovahseah lak his whiskey,

Let those who will stride on their barren roads And prick themselves to haste with self-made goads, Unheeding, as they struggle day by day,

Oh for the breath of the briny deep, And the tug of the bellying sail, With the sea-gull's cry across the sky

Thou art the soul of a summer's day, Thou art the breath of the rose. But the summer is fled

On a summer's day as I sat by a stream, A dainty maid came by, And she blessed my sight like a rosy dream,

De 'cession's stahted on de gospel way, De Capting is a-drawin' nigh: Bettah stop a-foolin' an' a-try to pray;

Come on walkin' wid me, Lucy; 't ain't no time to mope erroun' Wen de sunshine 's shoutin' glory in de sky, An' de little Johnny-Jump-Ups 's jes' a-springin' f'om de groun',

A cloud fell down from the heavens, And broke on the mountain's brow; It scattered the dusky fragments

Summah is de lovin' time-- Do' keer what you say. Night is allus peart an' prime,

It's hot to-day. The bees is buzzin' Kinder don't-keer-like aroun' An' fur off the warm air dances

The night is dewy as a maiden's mouth, The skies are bright as are a maiden's eyes, Soft as a maiden's breath the wind that flies

The sun hath shed its kindly light, Our harvesting is gladly o'er Our fields have felt no killing blight,

"Sunshine on de medders, Greenness on de way; Dat 's de blessed reason

Across the hills and down the narrow ways, And up the valley where the free winds sweep, The earth is folded in an ermined sleep

Good-night, my love, for I have dreamed of thee In waking dreams, until my soul is lost-- Is lost in passion's wide and shoreless sea,

Folks ain't got no right to censuah othah folks about dey habits; Him dat giv' de squir'ls de bushtails made de bobtails fu' de rabbits. Him dat built de gread big mountains hollered out de little valleys,

W'en you full o' worry 'Bout yo' wo'k an' sich, W'en you kind o' bothered

I be'n down in ole Kentucky Fur a week er two, an' say, 'T wuz ez hard ez breakin' oxen

I've always been a faithful man An' tried to live for duty, But the stringent mode of life

So we, who 've supped the self-same cup, To-night must lay our friendship by; Your wrath has burned your judgment up,

I think that though the clouds be dark, That though the waves dash o'er the bark, Yet after while the light will come,

Back to the breast of thy mother, Child of the earth! E'en her caress can not smother

Know you, winds that blow your course Down the verdant valleys, That somewhere you must, perforce,

We is gathahed hyeah, my brothahs, In dis howlin' wildaness, Fu' to speak some words of comfo't

Ther' ain't no use in all this strife, An' hurryin', pell-mell, right thro' life. I don't believe in goin' too fast

How sweet the music sounded That summer long ago, When you were by my side, love,

If thro' the sea of night which here surrounds me, I could swim out beyond the farthest star, Break every barrier of circumstance that bounds me,

When de fiddle gits to singin' out a ol' Vahginny reel, An' you 'mence to feel a ticklin' in yo' toe an' in yo' heel; Ef you t'ink you got 'uligion an' you wants to keep it, too,

My muvver's ist the nicest one 'At ever lived wiz folks; She lets you have ze mostes' fun,

When I come in f'om de co'n-fiel' aftah wo'kin' ha'd all day, It 's amazin' nice to fin' my suppah all erpon de way; An' it 's nice to smell de coffee bubblin' ovah in de pot,

When first of wise old Johnson taught, My youthful mind its homage brought, And made the pond'rous crusty sage

Since I left the city's heat For this sylvan, cool retreat, High upon the hill-side here

Whut time 'd dat clock strike? Nine? No--eight; I didn't think hit was so late.

Adown the west a golden glow Sinks burning in the sea, And all the dreams of long ago

A lilt and a swing, And a ditty to sing, Or ever the night grow old;

I know my love is true, And oh the day is fair. The sky is clear and blue,

By Mystic's banks I held my dream. (I held my fishing rod as well,) The vision was of dace and bream,

As in some dim baronial hall restrained, A prisoner sits, engirt by secret doors And waving tapestries that argue forth

Home agin, an' home to stay-- Yes, it's nice to be away. Plenty things to do an' see,

I Beyond the years the answer lies, Beyond where brood the grieving skies

"In the fight at Brandywine, Black Samson, a giant negro armed with a scythe, sweeps his way through the red ranks...." C. M. Skinner's "Myths and Legends of Our Own Land." Gray are the pages of record, Dim are the volumes of eld;

Standin' at de winder, Feelin' kind o' glum, Listenin' to de raindrops

The word is writ that he who runs may read. What is the passing breath of earthly fame? But to snatch glory from the hands of blame--

Caught Susanner whistlin'; well, It's most nigh too good to tell. 'Twould 'a' b'en too good to see

By rugged ways and thro' the night We struggle blindly toward the light; And groping, stumbling, ever pray

By the stream I dream in calm delight, and watch as in a glass, How the clouds like crowds of snowy-hued and white-robed maidens pass, And the water into ripples breaks and sparkles as it spreads,

The cloud looked in at the window, And said to the day, "Be dark!" And the roguish rain tapped hard on the pane,

Bones a-gittin' achy, Back a-feelin' col', Han's a-growin' shaky,

It was Chrismus Eve, I mind hit fu' a mighty gloomy day-- Bofe de weathah an' de people--not a one of us was gay; Cose you 'll t'ink dat 's mighty funny 'twell I try to mek hit cleah,

Step wid de banjo an' glide wid de fiddle, Dis ain' no time fu' to pottah an' piddle: Fu' Christmas is comin', it's right on de way,

Ring out, ye bells! All Nature swells With gladness at the wondrous story,--

The snow lies deep upon the ground, And winter's brightness all around Decks bravely out the forest sere,

Tim Murphy's gon' walkin' wid Maggie O'Neill, O chone! If I was her muther, I'd frown on sich foolin',

I Four hundred years ago a tangled waste Lay sleeping on the west Atlantic's side;

In the silence of my heart, I will spend an hour with thee, When my love shall rend apart

The sky of brightest gray seems dark To one whose sky was ever white. To one who never knew a spark,

Because I had loved so deeply, Because I had loved so long, God in His great compassion

Search thou my heart; If there be guile, It shall depart

"Good-bye," I said to my conscience-- "Good-bye for aye and aye," And I put her hands off harshly,

Mammy's in de kitchen, an' de do' is shet; All de pickaninnies climb an' tug an' sweat, Gittin' to de winder, stickin' dah lak flies,

Villain shows his indiscretion, Villain's partner makes confession. Juvenile, with golden tresses,

Want to trade me, do you, mistah? Oh, well, now, I reckon not, W'y you could n't buy my Sukey fu' a thousan' on de spot. Dat ol' mare o' mine?

An angel, robed in spotless white, Bent down and kissed the sleeping Night. Night woke to blush; the sprite was gone.

The gray dawn on the mountain top Is slow to pass away. Still lays him by in sluggish dreams,

Ain't nobody nevah tol' you not a wo'd a-tall, 'Bout de time dat all de critters gin dey fancy ball? Some folks tell it in a sto'y, some folks sing de rhyme,

De way t'ings come, hit seems to me, Is des' one monst'ous mystery; De way hit seem to strike a man,

I've been watchin' of 'em, parson, An' I'm sorry fur to say 'At my mind is not contented

A knock is at her door, but she is weak; Strange dews have washed the paint streaks from her cheek; She does not rise, but, ah, this friend is known,

Storm and strife and stress, Lost in a wilderness, Groping to find a way,

Jes' lak toddy wahms you thoo' Sets yo' haid a reelin', Meks you ovah good and new,

Let me close the eyes of my soul That I may not see What stands between thee and me.

My neighbor lives on the hill, And I in the valley dwell, My neighbor must look down on me,

I have seen full many a sight Born of day or drawn by night: Sunlight on a silver stream,

Tell your love where the roses blow, And the hearts of the lilies quiver, Not in the city's gleam and glow,

Place this bunch of mignonette In her cold, dead hand; When the golden sun is set,

In the east the morning comes, Hear the rollin' of the drums On the hill.

An old man planted and dug and tended, Toiling in joy from dew to dew; The sun was kind, and the rain befriended;

Seen you down at chu'ch las' night, Nevah min', Miss Lucy. What I mean? oh, dat 's all right,

"I am but clay," the sinner plead, Who fed each vain desire. "Not only clay," another said,

Ah, Douglass, we have fall'n on evil days, Such days as thou, not even thou didst know, When thee, the eyes of that harsh long ago

Long years ago, within a distant clime, Ere Love had touched me with his wand sublime, I dreamed of one to make my life's calm May

Pray, what can dreams avail To make love or to mar? The child within the cradle rail

Come away to dreamin' town, Mandy Lou, Mandy Lou, Whaih de skies don' nevah frown,

Dream on, for dreams are sweet: Do not awaken! Dream on, and at thy feet

What dreams we have and how they fly Like rosy clouds across the sky; Of wealth, of fame, of sure success,

Hit 's been drizzlin' an' been sprinklin', Kin' o' techy all day long. I ain't wet enough fu' toddy,

Because you love me I have much achieved, Had you despised me then I must have failed, But since I knew you trusted and believed,

Who dat knockin' at de do'? Why, Ike Johnson,--yes, fu' sho! Come in, Ike. I 's mighty glad

With what thou gavest me, O Master, I have wrought. Such chances, such abilities,

Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes, Which all the day with ceaseless care have sought The magic gold which from the seeker flies;

The moon begins her stately ride Across the summer sky; The happy wavelets lash the shore,--

You 'll be wonderin' whut 's de reason I 's a grinnin' all de time, An' I guess you t'ink my sperits

I's a-gittin' weary of de way dat people do, De folks dat's got dey 'ligion in dey fiah-place an' flue; Dey's allus somep'n comin' so de spit'll have to turn,

With sombre mien, the Evening gray Comes nagging at the heels of Day, And driven faster and still faster

Wen I git up in de mo'nin' an' de clouds is big an' black, Dey's a kin' o' wa'nin' shivah goes a-scootin' down my back; Den I says to my ol' ooman ez I watches down de lane,

Seems lak folks is mighty curus In de way dey t'inks an' ac's. Dey jes' spen's dey days a-mixin'

The world is a snob, and the man who wins Is the chap for its money's worth: And the lust for success causes half of the sins

I had not known before Forever was so long a word. The slow stroke of the clock of time

A hush is over all the teeming lists, And there is pause, a breath-space in the strife; A spirit brave has passed beyond the mists

I stand above the city's rush and din, And gaze far down with calm and undimmed eyes, To where the misty smoke wreath grey and dim

I grew a rose once more to please mine eyes. All things to aid it--dew, sun, wind, fair skies-- Were kindly; and to shield it from despoil,

The lark is silent in his nest, The breeze is sighing in its flight, Sleep, Love, and peaceful be thy rest.

Hello, ole man, you 're a-gittin' gray, An' it beats ole Ned to see the way 'At the crow's feet's a-getherin' aroun' yore eyes;

She told the story, and the whole world wept At wrongs and cruelties it had not known But for this fearless woman's voice alone.

He had his dream, and all through life, Worked up to it through toil and strife. Afloat fore'er before his eyes,

The gray of the sea, and the gray of the sky, A glimpse of the moon like a half-closed eye. The gleam on the waves and the light on the land,

De dog go howlin' 'long de road, De night come shiverin' down; My back is tiahed of its load,

De times is mighty stirrin' 'mong de people up ouah way, Dey 'sputin' an' dey argyin' an' fussin' night an' day; An' all dis monst'ous trouble dat hit meks me tiahed to tell

How shall I woo thee to win thee, mine own? Say in what tongue shall I tell of my love. I who was fearless so timid have grown,

Tek a cool night, good an' cleah, Skiff o' snow upon de groun'; Jes' 'bout fall-time o' de yeah

O li'l' lamb out in de col', De Mastah call you to de fol', O li'l' lamb!

When storms arise And dark'ning skies About me threat'ning lower,

If life were but a dream, my Love, And death the waking time; If day had not a beam, my Love,

In this old garden, fair, I walk to-day Heart-charmed with all the beauty of the scene: The rich, luxuriant grasses' cooling green,

When August days are hot an' dry, When burning copper is the sky, I 'd rather fish than feast or fly

Oh to have you in May, To talk with you under the trees, Dreaming throughout the day,

Oh, summer has clothed the earth In a cloak from the loom of the sun! And a mantle, too, of the skies' soft blue,

When summer time has come, and all The world is in the magic thrall Of perfumed airs that lull each sense

'Lias! 'Lias! Bless de Lawd! Don' you know de day's erbroad? Ef you don' git up, you scamp,

In the tents of Akbar Are dole and grief to-day, For the flower of all the Indies

At the golden gate of song Stood I, knocking all day long, But the Angel, calm and cold,

Come when the nights are bright with stars Or come when the moon is mellow; Come when the sun his golden bars

I Ah, yes, 't is sweet still to remember, Though 'twere less painful to forget;

Fu' de peace o' my eachin' heels, set down; Don' fiddle dat chune no mo'. Don' you see how dat melody stuhs me up

(From a Westerner's Point of View.) No matter what you call it, Whether genius, or art,

Hyeah come C'sar Higgins, Don't he think he 's fine? Look at dem new riggin's

Lucy done gone back on me, Dat's de way wif life. Evaht'ing was movin' free,

De da'kest hour, dey allus say, Is des' befo' de dawn, But it's moughty ha'd a-waitin'

The sand-man he's a jolly old fellow, His face is kind and his voice is mellow, But he makes your eyelids as heavy as lead,

Just whistle a bit, if the day be dark, And the sky be overcast: If mute be the voice of the piping lark,

Oh, de clouds is mighty heavy An' de rain is mighty thick; Keep a song up on de way.

I've a humble little motto That is homely, though it 's true,-- Keep a-pluggin' away.

I held my heart so far from harm, I let it wander far and free In mead and mart, without alarm,

Oh, awful Power whose works repel The marvel of the earth's designs,-- I 'll hie me otherwhere to dwell,

Oh, de weathah it is balmy an' de breeze is sighin' low. Li'l' gal, An' de mockin' bird is singin' in de locus' by de do',

A crust of bread and a corner to sleep in, A minute to smile and an hour to weep in, A pint of joy to a peck of trouble,

It may be misery not to sing at all And to go silent through the brimming day. It may be sorrow never to be loved,

Ef you's only got de powah fe' to blow a little whistle, Keep ermong de people wid de whistles. Ef you don't, you'll fin' out sho'tly dat you's th'owed yo' fines' feelin'

Hurt was the nation with a mighty wound, And all her ways were filled with clam'rous sound. Wailed loud the South with unremitting grief,

Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes, Come to yo' pappy an' set on his knee. What you been doin', suh--makin' san' pies?

Oh, the day has set me dreaming In a strange, half solemn way Of the feelings I experienced

Little brown face full of smiles, And a baby's guileless wiles, Liza May, Liza May.

Mother 's gone a-visitin' to spend a month er two, An', oh, the house is lonesome ez a nest whose birds has flew To other trees to build ag'in; the rooms seem jest so bare

De ol' time's gone, de new time's hyeah Wid all hits fuss an' feddahs; I done fu'got de joy an' cheah

If you could sit with me beside the sea to-day, And whisper with me sweetest dreamings o'er and o'er; I think I should not find the clouds so dim and gray,

A life was mine full of the close concern Of many-voiced affairs. The world sped fast; Behind me, ever rolled a pregnant past.

Out of my heart, one treach'rous winter's day, I locked young Love and threw the key away. Grief, wandering widely, found the key,

As lone I sat one summer's day, With mien dejected, Love came by; His face distraught, his locks astray,

Love me. I care not what the circling years To me may do. If, but in spite of time and tears,

Key and bar, key and bar, Iron bolt and chain! And what will you do when the King comes

Once Love grew bold and arrogant of air, Proud of the youth that made him fresh and fair; So unto Grief he spake, "What right hast thou

The draft of love was cool and sweet You gave me in the cup, But, ah, love's fire is keen and fleet,

As some rapt gazer on the lowly earth, Looks up to radiant planets, ranging far, So I, whose soul doth know thy wondrous worth

Love hath the wings of the butterfly, Oh, clasp him but gently, Pausing and dipping and fluttering by

Like the blush upon the rose When the wooing south wind speaks, Kissing soft its petals,

When the bees are humming in the honeysuckle vine And the summer days are in their bloom, Then my love is deepest, oh, dearest heart of mine,

If Death should claim me for her own to-day, And softly I should falter from your side, Oh, tell me, loved one, would my memory stay,

Summah night an' sighin' breeze, 'Long de lovah's lane; Frien'ly, shadder-mekin' trees,

Bedtime 's come fu' little boys. Po' little lamb. Too tiahed out to make a noise,

I Love is the light of the world, my dear, Heigho, but the world is gloomy;

In Life's Red Sea with faith I plant my feet, And wait the sound of that sustaining word Which long ago the men of Israel heard,

Silently without my window, Tapping gently at the pane, Falls the rain.

It's all a farce,--these tales they tell About the breezes sighing, And moans astir o'er field and dell,

Out of my heart, one day, I wrote a song, With my heart's blood imbued, Instinct with passion, tremulously strong,

The mist has left the greening plain, The dew-drops shine like fairy rain, The coquette rose awakes again

Darling, my darling, my heart is on the wing, It flies to thee this morning like a bird, Like happy birds in springtime my spirits soar and sing,

Ashes to ashes, dust unto dust, What of his loving, what of his lust? What of his passion, what of his pain?

Men may sing of their Havanas, elevating to the stars The real or fancied virtues of their foreign-made cigars; But I worship Nicotina at a different sort of shrine,

Gray is the palace where she dwells, Grimly the poplars stand There by the window where she sits,

Come to the pane, draw the curtain apart, There she is passing, the girl of my heart; See where she walks like a queen in the street,

I don't believe in 'ristercrats An' never did, you see; The plain ol' homelike sorter folks

W'en de clouds is hangin' heavy in de sky, An' de win's 's a-taihin' moughty vig'rous by, I don' go a-sighin' all erlong de way;

TO MY FRIEND CHARLES BOOTH NETTLETON I The young queen Nature, ever sweet and fair,

Silence, and whirling worlds afar Through all encircling skies. What floods come o'er the spirit's bar,

The moon has left the sky, love, The stars are hiding now, And frowning on the world, love,

Night, dim night, and it rains, my love, it rains, (Art thou dreaming of me, I wonder) The trees are sad, and the wind complains,

Some folks t'inks hit's right an' p'opah, Soon ez bedtime come erroun', Fu' to scramble to de kiver,

Shadder in de valley Sunlight on de hill, Sut'ny wish dat locus'

Ah, Nora, my Nora, the light fades away, While Night like a spirit steals up o'er the hills; The thrush from his tree where he chanted all day,

Not they who soar, but they who plod Their rugged way, unhelped, to God Are heroes; they who higher fare,

The November sun invites me, And although the chill wind smites me, I will wander to the woodland

October is the treasurer of the year, And all the months pay bounty to her store; The fields and orchards still their tribute bear,

Done are the toils and the wearisome marches, Done is the summons of bugle and drum. Softly and sweetly the sky over-arches,

O Mother Race! to thee I bring This pledge of faith unwavering, This tribute to thy glory.

Like sea-washed sand upon the shore, So fine and clean the tale, So clear and bright I almost see,

Thou arrant robber, Death! Couldst thou not find Some lesser one than he

Not to the midnight of the gloomy past, Do we revert to-day; we look upon The golden present and the future vast

The sun is low, The waters flow, My boat is dancing to and fro.

I 's boun' to see my gal to-night-- Oh, lone de way, my dearie! De moon ain't out, de stars ain't bright--

I sit upon the old sea wall, And watch the shimmering sea, Where soft and white the moonbeams fall,

Oh, I am hurt to death, my Love; The shafts of Fate have pierced my striving heart, And I am sick and weary of

Granny's gone a-visitin', Seen huh git huh shawl W'en I was a-hidin' down

Over the hills and the valleys of dreaming Slowly I take my way. Life is the night with its dream-visions teeming,

She wrapped her soul in a lace of lies, With a prime deceit to pin it; And I thought I was gaining a fearsome prize,

De breeze is blowin' 'cross de bay. My lady, my lady; De ship hit teks me far away,

A maiden wept and, as a comforter, Came one who cried, "I love thee," and he seized Her in his arms and kissed her with hot breath,

I been t'inkin' 'bout de preachah; whut he said de othah night, 'Bout hit bein' people's dooty, fu' to keep dey faces bright; How one ought to live so pleasant dat ouah tempah never riles,

Phyllis, ah, Phyllis, my life is a gray day, Few are my years, but my griefs are not few, Ever to youth should each day be a May-day,

A Song Poor withered rose, she gave it me, Half in revenge and half in glee;

Whose little lady is you, chile, Whose little gal is you? What's de use o' kiver'n up yo' face?

Ef dey 's anyt'ing dat riles me An' jes' gits me out o' hitch, Twell I want to tek my coat off,

I 've journeyed 'roun' consid'able, a-seein' men an' things, An' I 've learned a little of the sense that meetin' people brings; But in spite of all my travelling an' of all I think I know,

The poor man went to the rich man's doors, "I come as Lazarus came," he said. The rich man turned with humble head,--

Dear heart, good-night! Nay, list awhile that sweet voice singing When the world is all so bright,

The little bird sits in the nest and sings A shy, soft song to the morning light; And it flutters a little and prunes its wings.

Prometheus stole from Heaven the sacred fire And swept to earth with it o'er land and sea. He lit the vestal flames of poesy,

I grew a rose within a garden fair, And, tending it with more than loving care, I thought how, with the glory of its bloom,

Who say my hea't ain't true to you? Dey bettah heish dey mouf. I knows I loves you thoo an' thoo

Eight of 'em hyeah all tol' an' yet Dese eyes o' mine is wringin' wet; My haht's a-achin' ha'd an' so',

The rain streams down like harp-strings from the sky; The wind, that world-old harpist sitteth by; And ever as he sings his low refrain,

I am no priest of crooks nor creeds, For human wants and human needs Are more to me than prophets' deeds;

Will I have some mo' dat pie? No, ma'am, thank-ee, dat is--I-- Bettah quit daihin' me.

She sang, and I listened the whole song thro'. (It was sweet, so sweet, the singing.) The stars were out and the moon it grew

When Phyllis sighs and from her eyes The light dies out; my soul replies With misery of deep-drawn breath,

Long had I grieved at what I deemed abuse; But now I am as grain within the mill. If so be thou must crush me for thy use,

"Thou art a fool," said my head to my heart, "Indeed, the greatest of fools thou art, To be led astray by the trick of a tress,

When you and I were young, the days Were filled with scent of pink and rose, And full of joy from dawn till close,

When labor is light and the morning is fair, I find it a pleasure beyond all compare To hitch up my nag and go hurrying down

What if the wind do howl without, And turn the creaking weather-vane; What if the arrows of the rain

Why was it that the thunder voice of Fate Should call thee, studious, from the classic groves, Where calm-eyed Pallas with still footstep roves,

Oh, wind of the spring-time, oh, free wind of May, When blossoms and bird-song are rife; Oh, joy for the season, and joy for the day,

Your spoken words are roses fine and sweet, The songs you sing are perfect pearls of sound. How lavish nature is about your feet,

Ain't it nice to have a mammy W'en you kin' o' tiahed out Wid a-playin' in de meddah,

She gave a rose, And I kissed it and pressed it. I love her, she knows,

She told her beads with down-cast eyes, Within the ancient chapel dim; And ever as her fingers slim

Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing; I look far out into the pregnant night, Where I can hear a solemn booming gun

Air a-gittin' cool an' coolah, Frost a-comin' in de night, Hicka' nuts an' wa'nuts fallin',

'T is better to sit here beside the sea, Here on the spray-kissed beach, In silence, that between such friends as we

Slow moves the pageant of a climbing race; Their footsteps drag far, far below the height, And, unprevailing by their utmost might,

Dey is snow upon de meddahs, dey is snow upon de hill, An' de little branch's watahs is all glistenin' an' still; De win' goes roun' de cabin lak a sperrit wan'erin' 'roun'.

Dey 's a so't o' threatenin' feelin' in de blowin' of de breeze, An' I 's feelin' kin' o' squeamish in de night; I 's a-walkin' 'roun' a-lookin' at de diffunt style o' trees,

A bee that was searching for sweets one day Through the gate of a rose garden happened to stray. In the heart of a rose he hid away,

Bird of my lady's bower, Sing her a song; Tell her that every hour,

Dis is gospel weathah sho'-- Hills is sawt o' hazy. Meddahs level ez a flo'

Emblem of blasted hope and lost desire, No finger ever traced thy yellow page Save Time's. Thou hast not wrought to noble rage

Dey been speakin' at de cou't-house, An' laws-a-massy me, 'T was de beatness kin' o' doin's

Breezes blowin' middlin' brisk, Snow-flakes thro' the air a-whisk, Fallin' kind o' soft an' light,

Grass commence a-comin' Thoo de thawin' groun', Evah bird dat whistles

A blue-bell springs upon the ledge, A lark sits singing in the hedge; Sweet perfumes scent the balmy air,

The river sleeps beneath the sky, And clasps the shadows to its breast; The crescent moon shines dim on high;

If 'twere fair to suppose That your heart were not taken, That the dew from the rose

I know what the caged bird feels, alas! When the sun is bright on the upland slopes; When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,

I done got 'uligion, honey, an' I 's happy ez a king; Evahthing I see erbout me 's jes' lak sunshine in de spring; An' it seems lak I do' want to do anothah blessid thing

I did not know that life could be so sweet, I did not know the hours could speed so fleet, Till I knew you, and life was sweet again.

The Midnight wooed the Morning-Star, And prayed her: "Love come nearer; Your swinging coldly there afar

Round the wide earth, from the red field your valour has won, Blown with the breath of the far-speaking gun, Goes the word.

Bring me the livery of no other man. I am my own to robe me at my pleasure. Accepted rules to me disclose no treasure:

W'en de evenin' shadders Come a-glidin' down, Fallin' black an' heavy

Duck come switchin' 'cross de lot Hi, oh, Miss Lady! Hurry up an' hide de pot

Love used to carry a bow, you know, But now he carries a taper; It is either a length of wax aglow,

The change has come, and Helen sleeps-- Not sleeps; but wakes to greater deeps Of wisdom, glory, truth, and light,

The wind told the little leaves to hurry, And chased them down the way, While the mother tree laughed loud in glee,

Wen de colo'ed ban' comes ma'chin' down de street, Don't you people stan' daih starin'; lif yo' feet! Ain't dey playin'? Hip, hooray!

If the muse were mine to tempt it And my feeble voice were strong, If my tongue were trained to measures,

When the corn’s all cut and the bright stalks shine Like the burnished spears of a field of gold; When the field-mice rich on the nubbins dine,

A man of low degree was sore oppressed, Fate held him under iron-handed sway, And ever, those who saw him thus distressed

Heel and toe, heel and toe, That is the song we sing; Turn to your partner and curtsey low,

Cover him over with daisies white And eke with the poppies red, Sit with me here by his couch to-night,

This is the debt I pay Just for one riotous day, Years of regret and grief,

Goo'-by, Jinks, I got to hump, Got to mek dis pony jump; See dat sun a-goin' down

Oh, de grubbin'-hoe 's a-rustin' in de co'nah, An' de plow 's a-tumblin' down in de fiel', While de whippo'will 's a-wailin' lak a mou'nah

He scribbles some in prose and verse, And now and then he prints it; He paints a little,--gathers some

These are the days of elfs and fays: Who says that with the dreams of myth, These imps and elves disport themselves?

Oh, what shall I do? I am wholly upset; I am sure I 'll be jailed for a lunatic yet. I 'll be out of a job--it's the thing to expect

Out of the sunshine and out of the heat, Out of the dust of the grimy street, A song fluttered down in the form of a dove,

Temples he built and palaces of air, And, with the artist's parent-pride aglow, His fancy saw his vague ideals grow

Ah, yes, the chapter ends to-day; We even lay the book away; But oh, how sweet the moments sped

Oh, the little bird is rocking in the cradle of the wind, And it's bye, my little wee one, bye; The harvest all is gathered and the pippins all are binned;

The wind is out in its rage to-night, And your father is far at sea. The rime on the window is hard and white

Good hunting!--aye, good hunting, Wherever the forests call; But ever a heart beats hot with fear,

All hot and grimy from the road, Dust gray from arduous years, I sat me down and eased my load

Within a London garret high, Above the roofs and near the sky, My ill-rewarding pen I ply

In the heavy earth the miner Toiled and laboured day by day, Wrenching from the miser mountain

Pray why are you so bare, so bare, Oh, bough of the old oak-tree; And why, when I go through the shade you throw,

Aye, lay him in his grave, the old dead year! His life is lived--fulfilled his destiny. Have you for him no sad, regretful tear

Our good knight, Ted, girds his broadsword on (And he wields it well, I ween); He 's on his steed, and away has gone

This poem must be done to-day; Then, I 'll e'en to it. I must not dream my time away,--

I 've been list'nin' to them lawyers In the court house up the street, An' I 've come to the conclusion

My cot was down by a cypress grove, And I sat by my window the whole night long, And heard well up from the deep dark wood

Sweetest of the flowers a-blooming In the fragrant vernal days Is the Lily of the Valley

Dinah stan' befo' de glass, Lookin' moughty neat, An' huh purty shadder sass

A lover whom duty called over the wave, With himself communed: "Will my love be true If left to herself? Had I better not sue

An old, worn harp that had been played Till all its strings were loose and frayed, Joy, Hate, and Fear, each one essayed,

Oh, who is the Lord of the land of life, When hotly goes the fray? When, fierce we smile in the midst of strife

Though the winds be dank, And the sky be sober, And the grieving Day

Out in de night a sad bird moans, An', oh, but hit 's moughty lonely; Times I kin sing, but mos' I groans,

In this sombre garden close What has come and passed, who knows? What red passion, what white pain

Say a mass for my soul's repose, my brother, Say a mass for my soul's repose, I need it, Lovingly lived we, the sons of one mother,

I was not; now I am--a few days hence I shall not be; I fain would look before And after, but can neither do; some Power

The smell of the sea in my nostrils, The sound of the sea in mine ears; The touch of the spray on my burning face,

Whut dat you whisperin' keepin' f'om me? Don't shut me out 'cause I 's ol' an' can't see. Somep'n's gone wrong dat 's a-causin' you dread,--

You kin talk about yer anthems An' yer arias an' sich, An' yer modern choir-singin'

There's a memory keeps a-runnin' Through my weary head to-night, An' I see a picture dancin'

In de dead of night I sometimes, Git to t'inkin' of de pas' An' de days w'en slavery helt me

W'en daih 's chillun in de house, Dey keep on a-gittin' tall; But de folks don' seem to see

'Tis an old deserted homestead On the outskirts of the town, Where the roof is all moss-covered,

I am the mother of sorrows, I am the ender of grief; I am the bud and the blossom,

Dey had a gread big pahty down to Tom's de othah night; Was I dah? You bet! I nevah in my life see sich a sight; All de folks f'om fou' plantations was invited, an' dey come,

There are no beaten paths to Glory's height, There are no rules to compass greatness known; Each for himself must cleave a path alone,

One night in my room, still and beamless, With will and with thought in eclipse, I rested in sleep that was dreamless;

See dis pictyah in my han'? Dat's my gal; Ain't she purty? goodness lan'!

There's a fabulous story Full of splendor and glory, That Arabian legends transcends;

Wintah time hit comin' Stealin' thoo de night; Wake up in the mo'nin'

He sang of life, serenely sweet, With, now and then, a deeper note. From some high peak, nigh yet remote,

A song is but a little thing, And yet what joy it is to sing! In hours of toil it gives me zest,

How's a man to write a sonnet, can you tell,-- How's he going to weave the dim, poetic spell,-- When a-toddling on the floor

By the pool that I see in my dreams, dear love, I have sat with you time and again; And listened beneath the dank leaves, dear love,

Dolly sits a-quilting by her mother, stich by stitch, Gracious, how my pulses throb, how my fingers itch, While I note her dainty waist and her slender hand,

Folks is talkin' 'bout de money, 'bout de silvah an' de gold; All de time de season 's changin' an' de days is gittin' cold. An' dey 's wond'rin' 'bout de metals, whethah we'll have one er two.

I have no fancy for that ancient cant That makes us masters of our destinies, And not our lives, to hold or give them up

The lake's dark breast Is all unrest, It heaves with a sob and a sigh.

'T was three an' thirty year ago, When I was ruther young, you know, I had my last an' only fight

Along by the river of ruin They dally--the thoughtless ones, They dance and they dream

I know a man With face of tan, But who is ever kind;

What says the wind to the waving trees? What says the wave to the river? What means the sigh in the passing breeze?

As a quiet little seedling Lay within its darksome bed, To itself it fell a-talking,

My soul, lost in the music's mist, Roamed, rapt, 'neath skies of amethyst. The cheerless streets grew summer meads,

A little bird, with plumage brown, Beside my window flutters down, A moment chirps its little strain,

I never shall furgit that night when father hitched up Dobbin, An' all us youngsters clambered in an' down the road went bobbin' To school where we was kep' at work in every kind o' weather,

Come, drink a stirrup cup with me, Before we close our rouse. You 're all aglow with wine, I know:

A little dreaming by the way, A little toiling day by day; A little pain, a little strife,

De night creep down erlong de lan', De shadders rise an' shake, De frog is sta'tin' up his ban',

Woman's sho' a cur'ous critter, an' dey ain't no doubtin' dat. She's a mess o' funny capahs f'om huh slippahs to huh hat. Ef you tries to un'erstan' huh, an' you fails, des' up an' say:

'Twas the apple that in Eden Caused our father's primal fall; And the Trojan War, remember--

A song for the unsung heroes who rose in the country's need, When the life of the land was threatened by the slaver's cruel greed, For the men who came from the cornfield, who came from the plough and the flail,

When to sweet music my lady is dancing My heart to mild frenzy her beauty inspires. Into my face are her brown eyes a-glancing,

Underneath the autumn sky, Haltingly, the lines go by. Ah, would steps were blithe and gay,

Little lady at de do', W'y you stan' dey knockin'? Nevah seen you ac' befo'

In a small and lonely cabin out of noisy traffic's way, Sat an old man, bent and feeble, dusk of face, and hair of gray, And beside him on the table, battered, old, and worn as he,

Long since, in sore distress, I heard one pray, "Lord, who prevailest with resistless might, Ever from war and strife keep me away,

I stood by the shore at the death of day, As the sun sank flaming red; And the face of the waters that spread away

A youth went faring up and down, Alack and well-a-day. He fared him to the market town,

Ah me, it is cold and chill And the fire sobs low in the grate, While the wind rides by on the hill,

THEN He loved her, and through many years, Had paid his fair devoted court,

There is a heaven, for ever, day by day, The upward longing of my soul doth tell me so. There is a hell, I 'm quite as sure; for pray,

Thou art my lute, by thee I sing,-- My being is attuned to thee. Thou settest all my words a-wing,

Oh the breeze is blowin' balmy An the sun is in a haze; There's a cloud jest givin' coolness

Summah 's nice, wif sun a-shinin', Spring is good wif greens and grass, An' dey 's some t'ings nice 'bout wintah,

Dear critic, who my lightness so deplores, Would I might study to be prince of bores, Right wisely would I rule that dull estate--

It is as if a silver chord Were suddenly grown mute, And life's song with its rhythm warred

Thy tones are silver melted into sound, And as I dream I see no walls around,

Belated wanderer of the ways of spring, Lost in the chill of grim November rain, Would I could read the message that you bring

This is to-day, a golden summer's day And yet--and yet My vengeful soul will not forget

Step me now a bridal measure, Work give way to love and leisure, Hearts be free and hearts be gay--

To me, like hauntings of a vagrant breath From some far forest which I once have known, The perfume of this flower of verse is blown.

Your presence like a benison to me Wakes my sick soul to dreamful ecstasy, I fancy that some old Arabian night

What are the things that make life bright? A star gleam in the night. What hearts us for the coming fray?

Oh, the poets may sing of their Lady Irenes, And may rave in their rhymes about wonderful queens; But I throw my poetical wings to the breeze,

(Lines on reading "Driftwood.") Driftwood gathered here and there Along the beach of time;

I 's feelin' kin' o' lonesome in my little room to-night, An' my min 's done los' de minutes an' de miles, Wile it teks me back a-flyin' to de country of delight,

God has his plans, and what if we With our sight be too blind to see Their full fruition; cannot he,

Kiss me, Miami, thou most constant one! I love thee more for that thou changest not. When Winter comes with frigid blast,

Cool is the wind, for the summer is waning, Who 's for the road? Sun-flecked and soft, where the dead leaves are raining,

Heart of the Southland, heed me pleading now, Who bearest, unashamed, upon my brow The long kiss of the loving tropic sun,

Dey was oncet a awful quoil 'twixt de skillet an' de pot; De pot was des a-bilin' an' de skillet sho' was hot. Dey slurred each othah's colah an' dey called each othah names,

All de night long twell de moon goes down, Lovin' I set at huh feet, Den fu' de long jou'ney back f'om de town,

'Twixt a smile and a tear, 'Twixt a song and a sigh, 'Twixt the day and the dark,

Two little boots all rough an' wo', Two little boots! Law, I 's kissed 'em times befo',

Deep in my heart that aches with the repression, And strives with plenitude of bitter pain, There lives a thought that clamors for expression,

Long time ago, we two set out, My soul and I. I know not why,

When I was young I longed for Love, And held his glory far above All other earthly things. I cried:

It's moughty tiahsome layin' 'roun' Dis sorrer-laden earfly groun', An' oftentimes I thinks, thinks I,

Days git wa'm an' wa'mah, School gits mighty dull, Seems lak dese hyeah teachahs

The sun has slipped his tether And galloped down the west. (Oh, it's weary, weary waiting, love.)

We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,— This debt we pay to human guile;

You ask why I am sad to-day, I have no cares, no griefs, you say? Ah, yes, 't is true, I have no grief--

What's the use o' folks a-frownin' When the way's a little rough? Frowns lay out the road fur smilin'

W'en us fellers stomp around, makin' lots o' noise, Gramma says, "There's certain times come to little boys W'en they need a shingle or the soft side of a plank;"

When all is done, and my last word is said, And ye who loved me murmur, "He is dead," Let no one weep, for fear that I should know,

Dey was talkin' in de cabin, dey was talkin' in de hall; But I listened kin' o' keerless, not a-t'inkin' 'bout it all; An' on Sunday, too, I noticed, dey was whisp'rin' mighty much,

G'way an' quit dat noise, Miss Lucy-- Put dat music book away; What's de use to keep on tryin'?

Hyeah dat singin' in de medders Whaih de folks is mekin' hay? Wo'k is pretty middlin' heavy

In the forenoon's restful quiet, When the boys are off at school, When the window lights are shaded

When winter covering all the ground Hides every sign of Spring, sir. However you may look around,

Slow de night 's a-fallin', An' I hyeah de callin, Out erpon de lonesome hill;

I has hyeahd o' people dancin' an' I 's hyeahd o' people singin'. An' I 's been 'roun' lots of othahs dat could keep de banjo ringin'; But of all de whistlin' da'kies dat have lived an' died since Ham,

Not o'er thy dust let there be spent The gush of maudlin sentiment; Such drift as that is not for thee,

Why fades a dream? An iridescent ray Flecked in between the tryst

De sun hit shine an' de win' hit blow, Ol' Brer Rabbit be a-layin' low, He know dat de wintah time a-comin',

Oh, who would be sad tho' the sky be a-graying, And meadow and woodlands are empty and bare; For softly and merrily now there come playing,

Night is for sorrow and dawn is for joy, Chasing the troubles that fret and annoy; Darkness for sighing and daylight for song,--

You bid me hold my peace And dry my fruitless tears, Forgetting that I bear

Yesterday I held your hand, Reverently I pressed it, And its gentle yieldingness