The Complete Poems Of Paul Laurence Dunbar. Paul Laurence Dunbar

streaks o’ blue,

      Sunshine softly gleamin’,

      D’ain’t no wuk hit’s right to do,

      Nothin’ ‘s right but dreamin’.

      Dreamin’ by de rivah side

      Wif de watahs glist’nin’,

      Feelin’ good an’ satisfied

      Ez you lay a-list’nin’

      To the little nakid boys

      Splashin’ in de watah,

      Hollerin’ fu’ to spress deir joys

      Jes’ lak youngsters ought to.

      Squir’l a-tippin’ on his toes,

      So ‘s to hide an’ view you;

      Whole flocks o’ camp-meetin’ crows

      Shoutin’ hallelujah.

      Peckahwood erpon de tree

      Tappin’ lak a hammah;

      Jaybird chattin’ wif a bee,

      Tryin’ to teach him grammah.

      Breeze is blowin’ wif perfume,

      Jes’ enough to tease you;

      Hollyhocks is all in bloom,

      Smellin’ fu’ to please you.

      Go ‘way, folks, an’ let me ‘lone,

      Times is gettin’ dearah—

      Summah’s settin’ on de th’one,

      An’ I ‘m a-layin’ neah huh!

      SPRING SONG

      A blue-bell springs upon the ledge,

      A lark sits singing in the hedge;

      Sweet perfumes scent the balmy air,

      And life is brimming everywhere.

      What lark and breeze and bluebird sing,

      Is Spring, Spring, Spring!

      No more the air is sharp and cold;

      The planter wends across the wold,

      And, glad, beneath the shining sky

      We wander forth, my love and I.

      And ever in our hearts doth ring

      This song of Spring, Spring!

      For life is life and love is love,

      ‘Twixt maid and man or dove and dove.

      Life may be short, life may be long,

      But love will come, and to its song

      Shall this refrain for ever cling

      Of Spring, Spring, Spring!

      TO LOUISE

      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,

      And soar in a song to my Lady Louise.

      A sweet little maid, who is dearer, I ween,

      Than any fair duchess, or even a queen.

      When speaking of her I can’t plod in my prose,

      For she ‘s the wee lassie who gave me a rose.

      Since poets, from seeing a lady’s lip curled,

      Have written fair verse that has sweetened the world;

      Why, then, should not I give the space of an hour

      To making a song in return for a flower?

      I have found in my life—it has not been so long—

      There are too few of flowers—too little of song.

      So out of that blossom, this lay of mine grows,

      For the dear little lady who gave me the rose.

      I thank God for innocence, dearer than Art,

      That lights on a by-way which leads to the heart,

      And led by an impulse no less than divine,

      Walks into the temple and sits at the shrine.

      I would rather pluck daisies that grow in the wild,

      Or take one simple rose from the hand of a child,

      Then to breathe the rich fragrance of flowers that bide

      In the gardens of luxury, passion, and pride.

      I know not, my wee one, how came you to know

      Which way to my heart was the right way to go;

      Unless in your purity, soul-clean and clear,

      God whispers his messages into your ear.

      You have now had my song, let me end with a prayer

      That your life may be always sweet, happy, and fair;

      That your joys may be many, and absent your woes,

      O dear little lady who gave me the rose!

      THE RIVALS

      ‘T was three an’ thirty year ago,

      When I was ruther young, you know,

      I had my last an’ only fight

      About a gal one summer night.

      ‘T was me an’ Zekel Johnson; Zeke

      ‘N’ me ‘d be’n spattin’ ‘bout a week,

      Each of us tryin’ his best to show

      That he was Liza Jones’s beau.

      We could n’t neither prove the thing,

      Fur she was fur too sharp to fling

      One over fur the other one

      An’ by so doin’ stop the fun

      That we chaps did n’t have the sense

      To see she got at our expense,

      But that’s the way a feller does,

      Fur boys is fools an’ allus was.

      An’ when they’s females in the game

      I reckon men’s about the same.

      Well, Zeke an’ me went on that way

      An’ fussed an’ quarrelled day by day;

      While Liza, mindin’ not the fuss,

      Jest kep’ a-goin’ with both of us,

      Tell we pore chaps, that’s Zeke an’ me,

      Was jest plum mad with jealousy.

      Well, fur a time we kep’ our places,

      An’ only showed by frownin’ faces

      An’ looks ‘at well our meanin’ boded

      How full o’ fight we both was loaded.

      At last it come, the thing broke out,

      An’ this is how it come about.

      One night (‘t was fair, you’ll all agree)

      I got Eliza’s company,

      An’ leavin’ Zekel in the lurch,

      Went trottin’ off with her to church.