The Complete Poems Of Paul Laurence Dunbar. Paul Laurence Dunbar

      LIFE

      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,

      And never a laugh but the moans come double;

      And that is life!

      A crust and a corner that love makes precious,

      With a smile to warm and the tears to refresh us;

      And joy seems sweeter when cares come after,

      And a moan is the finest of foils for laughter;

      And that is life!

      THE LESSON

      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

      A mocking-bird’s passionate song.

      And I thought of myself so sad and lone,

      And my life’s cold winter that knew no spring;

      Of my mind so weary and sick and wild,

      Of my heart too sad to sing.

      But e’en as I listened the mock-bird’s song,

      A thought stole into my saddened heart,

      And I said, “I can cheer some other soul

      By a carol’s simple art.”

      For oft from the darkness of hearts and lives

      Come songs that brim with joy and light,

      As out of the gloom of the cypress grove

      The mocking-bird sings at night.

      So I sang a lay for a brother’s ear

      In a strain to soothe his bleeding heart,

      And he smiled at the sound of my voice and lyre,

      Though mine was a feeble art.

      But at his smile I smiled in turn,

      And into my soul there came a ray:

      In trying to soothe another’s woes

      Mine own had passed away.

      THE RISING OF THE STORM

      The lake’s dark breast

      Is all unrest,

      It heaves with a sob and a sigh.

      Like a tremulous bird,

      From its slumber stirred,

      The moon is a-tilt in the sky.

      From the silent deep

      The waters sweep,

      But faint on the cold white stones,

      And the wavelets fly

      With a plaintive cry

      O’er the old earth’s bare, bleak bones.

      And the spray upsprings

      On its ghost-white wings,

      And tosses a kiss at the stars;

      While a water-sprite,

      In sea-pearls dight,

      Hums a sea-hymn’s solemn bars.

      Far out in the night,

      On the wavering sight

      I see a dark hull loom;

      And its light on high,

      Like a Cyclops’ eye,

      Shines out through the mist and gloom.

      Now the winds well up

      From the earth’s deep cup,

      And fall on the sea and shore,

      And against the pier

      The waters rear

      And break with a sullen roar.

      Up comes the gale,

      And the mist-wrought veil

      Gives way to the lightning’s glare,

      And the cloud-drifts fall,

      A sombre pall,

      O’er water, earth, and air.

      The storm-king flies,

      His whip he plies,

      And bellows down the wind.

      The lightning rash

      With blinding flash

      Comes pricking on behind.

      Rise, waters, rise,

      And taunt the skies

      With your swift-flitting form.

      Sweep, wild winds, sweep,

      And tear the deep

      To atoms in the storm.

      And the waters leapt,

      And the wild winds swept,

      And blew out the moon in the sky,

      And I laughed with glee,

      It was joy to me

      As the storm went raging by!

      SUNSET

      The river sleeps beneath the sky,

      And clasps the shadows to its breast;

      The crescent moon shines dim on high;

      And in the lately radiant west

      The gold is fading into gray.

      Now stills the lark his festive lay,

      And mourns with me the dying day.

      While in the south the first faint star

      Lifts to the night its silver face,

      And twinkles to the moon afar

      Across the heaven’s graying space,

      Low murmurs reach me from the town,

      As Day puts on her sombre crown,

      And shakes her mantle darkly down.

      THE OLD APPLE-TREE

      There’s a memory keeps a-runnin’

      Through my weary head to-night,

      An’ I see a picture dancin’

      In the fire-flames’ ruddy light;

      ‘Tis the picture of an orchard

      Wrapped in autumn’s purple haze,

      With the tender light about it

      That I loved in other days.

      An’ a-standin’ in a corner

      Once again I seem to see

      The verdant leaves an’ branches

      Of an old apple-tree.

      You perhaps would call it ugly,

      An’ I don’t know but it’s so,

      When you look the tree all over

      Unadorned by memory’s glow;

      For its boughs are gnarled an’ crooked,

      An’ its leaves are gettin’ thin,

      An’