The Complete Poems Of Paul Laurence Dunbar. Paul Laurence Dunbar

n’t fill so large a bin

      As they used to. But I tell you,

      When it comes to pleasin’ me,

      It’s the dearest in the orchard,—

      Is that old apple-tree.

      I would hide within its shelter,

      Settlin’ in some cosy nook,

      Where no calls nor threats could stir me

      From the pages o’ my book.

      Oh, that quiet, sweet seclusion

      In its fulness passeth words!

      It was deeper than the deepest

      That my sanctum now affords.

      Why, the jaybirds an’ the robins,

      They was hand in glove with me,

      As they winked at me an’ warbled

      In that old apple-tree.

      It was on its sturdy branches

      That in summers long ago

      I would tie my swing an’ dangle

      In contentment to an’ fro,

      Idly dreamin’ childish fancies,

      Buildin’ castles in the air,

      Makin’ o’ myself a hero

      Of romances rich an’ rare.

      I kin shet my eyes an’ see it

      Jest as plain as plain kin be,

      That same old swing a-danglin’

      To the old apple-tree.

      There’s a rustic seat beneath it

      That I never kin forget.

      It’s the place where me an’ Hallie—

      Little sweetheart—used to set,

      When we ‘d wander to the orchard

      So ‘s no listenin’ ones could hear

      As I whispered sugared nonsense

      Into her little willin’ ear.

      Now my gray old wife is Hallie,

      An’ I ‘m grayer still than she,

      But I ‘ll not forget our courtin’

      ‘Neath the old apple-tree.

      Life for us ain’t all been summer,

      But I guess we ‘we had our share

      Of its flittin’ joys an’ pleasures,

      An’ a sprinklin’ of its care.

      Oft the skies have smiled upon us;

      Then again we ‘ve seen ‘em frown,

      Though our load was ne’er so heavy

      That we longed to lay it down.

      But when death does come a-callin’,

      This my last request shall be,—

      That they ‘ll bury me an’ Hallie

      ‘Neath the old apple tree.

      A PRAYER

      O Lord, the hard-won miles

      Have worn my stumbling feet:

      Oh, soothe me with thy smiles,

      And make my life complete.

      The thorns were thick and keen

      Where’er I trembling trod;

      The way was long between

      My wounded feet and God.

      Where healing waters flow

      Do thou my footsteps lead.

      My heart is aching so;

      Thy gracious balm I need.

      PASSION AND LOVE

      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,

      That dried the tears upon her flaming cheeks.

      While evermore his boldly blazing eye

      Burned into hers; but she uncomforted

      Shrank from his arms and only wept the more.

      Then one came and gazed mutely in her face

      With wide and wistful eyes; but still aloof

      He held himself; as with a reverent fear,

      As one who knows some sacred presence nigh.

      And as she wept he mingled tear with tear,

      That cheered her soul like dew a dusty flower,—

      Until she smiled, approached, and touched his hand!

      THE SEEDLING

      As a quiet little seedling

      Lay within its darksome bed,

      To itself it fell a-talking,

      And this is what it said:

      “I am not so very robust,

      But I ‘ll do the best I can;”

      And the seedling from that moment

      Its work of life began.

      So it pushed a little leaflet

      Up into the light of day,

      To examine the surroundings

      And show the rest the way.

      The leaflet liked the prospect,

      So it called its brother, Stem;

      Then two other leaflets heard it,

      And quickly followed them.

      To be sure, the haste and hurry

      Made the seedling sweat and pant;

      But almost before it knew it

      It found itself a plant.

      The sunshine poured upon it,

      And the clouds they gave a shower;

      And the little plant kept growing

      Till it found itself a flower.

      Little folks, be like the seedling,

      Always do the best you can;

      Every child must share life’s labor

      Just as well as every man.

      And the sun and showers will help you

      Through the lonesome, struggling hours,

      Till you raise to light and beauty

      Virtue’s fair, unfading flowers.

      PROMISE

      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,

      I should the darkness of my life illume;

      And, watching, ever smiled to see the lusty bud

      Drink freely in the summer sun to tinct its blood.

      My