Selected Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar
Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Year 5; Poetry

Selected Poems
of

Paul Laurence Dunbar

1872-1906

1
Whittier

1896

Not o’er thy dust let there be spent

The gush of maudlin sentiment;

Such drift as that is not for thee,

Whose life and deeds and songs agree,

Sublime in their simplicity.

Nor shall the sorrowing tear be shed.

O singer sweet, thou art not dead!

In spite of time’s malignant chill,

With living fire thy songs shall thrill,

And men shall say, “He liveth still!”

Great poets never die, for Earth

Doth count their lives of too great worth

To lose them from her treasured store;

So shalt thou live for evermore –

Though far thy form from mortal ken –

Deep in the hearts and minds of men.

2
Sympathy

1899

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,

And the river flows like a stream of glass;

When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,

And the faint perfume from its chalice steals–

I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing

Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;

For he must fly back to his perch and cling

When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;

And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars

And the pulse again with a keener sting–

I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,

When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore, –

When he beats his bars and would be free;

It is not a carol of joy or glee,

But a prayer he sends from his heart’s deep core,

But a plea that upward to Heaven he flings–

I know why the caged bird sings!

3
The Lesson

1896

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.

4
The Master-Player

1896

An old worn harp that had been played

Till all its strings were loose and frayed,

Joy, Hate, and Fear, each one essayed,

To play. But each in turn had found

No sweet responsiveness of sound.

Then Love the Master-Player came

With heaving breast and eyes aflame;

The harp he took all undismayed,

Smote on its strings, still strange to song,

And brought forth music sweet and strong.

5
After the Quarrel

1896

So we, who’ve supped the self-same cup,

To-night must lay our friendship by;

Your wrath has burned your judgment up,

Hot breath has blown the ashes high.

You say that you are wronged – ah, well,

I count that friendship poor, at best

A bauble, a mere bagatelle,

That cannot stand so slight a test.

I fain would still have been your friend,

And talked and laughed and loved with you

But since it must, why, let it end;

The false but dies, ’t is not the true.

So we are favored, you and I,

Who only want the living truth.

It was not good to nurse the lie;

’Tis well it died in harmless youth.

I go from you to-night to sleep.

Why, what’s the odds? why should I grieve?

I have no fund of tears to weep

For happenings that undeceive.

The days shall come, the days shall go

Just as they came and went before.

The sun shall shine, the streams shall flow

Though you and I are friends no more.

And in the volume of my years,

Where all my thoughts and acts shall be,

The page whereon your name appears

Shall be forever sealed to me.

Not that I hate you over-much,

’Tis less of hate than love defied;

Howe’er, our hands no more shall touch,

We’ll go our ways, the world is wide.

6
October

1896

October is the treasurer of the year,

And all the months pay bounty to her store;

The fields and orchards still their tribute bear,

And fill her brimming coffers more and more.

But she, with youthful lavishness,

Spends all her wealth in gaudy dress,

And decks herself in garments bold

Of scarlet, purple, red, and gold.

She heedeth not how swift the hours fly,

But smiles and sings her happy life along;

She only sees above a shining sky;

She only hears the breezes’ voice in song.

Her garments trail the woodlands through,

And gather pearls of early dew

That sparkle, till the roguish Sun

Creeps up and steals them every one.

But what cares she that jewels should be lost,

When all of Nature’s bounteous wealth is hers?

Though princely fortunes may have been their cost,

Not one regret her calm demeanor stirs.

Whole-hearted, happy, careless, free,

She lives her life out joyously,

Nor cares when Frost stalks o’er her way

And turns her auburn locks to gray.

7
Dawn

1896

An angel, robed in spotless white,

Bent down and kissed the sleeping Night.

Night woke to blush; the sprite was gone.

Men saw the blush and called it Dawn.

8
We Wear the Mask

1896

We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,–

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us, while

We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries

To thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile;

But let the world dream otherwise,

We wear the mask!

9
Lonesome

1896

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

That the echoes run like sperrits from the kitchen to the stair.

The shetters flap more lazy-like ’n what they used to do,

Sence mother’s gone a-visitin’ to spend a month er two.

We’ve killed the fattest chicken an’ we’ve cooked her to a turn;

We’ve made the richest gravy, but I jest don’t give a durn

Fur nothin’ ’at I drink er eat, er nothin’ ’at I see.

The food ain’t got the pleasant taste it used to have to me.

They’s somep’n’ stickin’ in my throat ez tight ez hardened glue,

Sence mother’s gone a-visitin’ to spend a month er two.

The hollyhocks air jest ez pink, they’re double ones at that,

An’ I wuz prouder of ’em than a baby of a cat.

But now I don’t go near ’em, though they nod an’ blush at me,

Fur they’s somep’n’ seems to gall me in their keerless sort o’ glee

An’ all their fren’ly noddin’ an’ their blushin’ seems to say:

“You’re putty lonesome, John, old boy, sence mother’s gone away.”

The neighbors ain’t so fren’ly ez it seems they’d ort to be;

They seem to be a-lookin’ kinder sideways like at me,

A-kinder feared they’d tech me off ez ef I wuz a match,

An’ all because ’at mother’s gone an’ I’m a-keepin’ batch!

I’m shore I don’t do nothin’ worse ’n what I used to do

’Fore mother went a-visitin’ to spend a month er two.

The sparrers ac’s more fearsome like an’ won’t hop quite so near,

The cricket’s chirp is sadder, an’ the sky ain’t ha’f so clear;

When ev’nin’ comes, I set an’ smoke tell my eyes begin to swim,

An’ things aroun’ commence to look all blurred an’ faint an’ dim.

Well, I guess I’ll have to own up ’at I’m feelin’ purty blue

Sence mother’s gone a-visitin’ to spend a month er two.

10
Opportunity

1901

Granny’s gone a-visitin’,

Seen huh git huh shawl

W’en I was a-hidin’ down

Hime de gyahden wall.

Seen huh put her bonnet on,

Seen huh tie de strings,

An’ I’se gone to dreamin’ now

’Bout dem cakes an’ t’ings.

On de she’f behime de do’—

Mussy, what a feas’!

Soon ez she gits out o’ sight,

I kin eat in peace.

I bin watchin’ fu’ a week

Des fu’ dis hyeah chance.

Mussy, w’en I gits in daih,

I’ll des sholy dance.

Lemon pie an’ gingah-cake,

Let me set an’ t’ink—

Vinegah an’ sugah, too,

Dat’ll mek a drink;

Ef dey’s one t’ing dat I loves

Mos’ pu’ticlahly,

It is eatin’ sweet t’ings an’

A-drinkin’ Sangaree.

Lawdy, won’ po’ granny raih

W’en she see de she’f;

W’en I t’ink erbout huh face,

I’s mos’ ’shamed myse’f.

Well, she gone, an ’hyeah I is,

Back behime de do’—

Look hyeah! gran’ ’s done ’spected me,

Dain’t no sweets no mo’.

Evah sweet is hid erway,

Job des done up brown;

Pusson t’ink dat someun t’ought

Dey was t’eves erroun’;

Dat des breaks my heart in two,

Oh how bad I feel!

Des to t’ink my own gramma

B’lieved dat I ’u’d steal!

11
The Sparrow

1896

A little bird, with plumage brown,

Beside my window flutters down,

A moment chirps its little strain,

Ten taps upon my window-pane,

And chirps again, and hops along,

To call my notice to its song;

But I work on, nor heed its lay,

Till, in neglect, it flies away.

So birds of peace and hope and love

Come fluttering earthward from above,

To settle on life’s window-sills,

And ease our load of earthly ills;

But we, in traffic’s rush and din

Too deep engaged to let them in,

With deadened heart and sense plod on,

Nor know our loss till they are gone.

12
Not They Who Soar

1896

Not they who soar, but they who plod

Their rugged way, unhelped, to God

Are heroes; they who higher fare,

And, flying, fan the upper air,

Miss all the toil that hugs the sod.

’Tis they whose backs have felt the rod,

Whose feet have pressed the path unshod,

May smile upon defeated care,

Not they who soar.

High up there are no thorns to prod,

Nor boulders lurking ’neath the clod

To turn the keenness of the share,

For flight is ever free and rare;

But heroes they the soil who’ve trod,

Not they who soar!

13
Dreams

1899

What dreams we have and how they fly

Like rosy clouds across the sky;

Of wealth, of fame, of sure success,

Of love that comes to cheer and bless;

And how they wither, how they fade,

The waning wealth, the jilting jade–

The fame that for a moment gleams,

Then flies forever,–dreams, ah–dreams!

O burning doubt and long regret

O tears with which our eyes are wet,

Heart-throbs, heart-aches, the glut of pain,

The somber cloud, the bitter rain,

You were not of those dreams–ah! well,

Your full fruition who can tell?

Wealth, fame, and love, ah! love that beams

Upon our souls, all dreams–ah! dreams.

14
A Choice

1899

They please me not–these solemn songs

That hint of sermons covered up.

’T is true the world should heed its wrongs,

But in a poem let me sup,

Not simples brewed to cure or ease

Humanity’s confessed disease,

But the spirit-wine of a singing line,

Or a dew-drop in a honey cup!

15 – Compensation

1901

Because I had loved so deeply,

Because I had loved so long,

God in His great compassion

Gave me the gift of song.

Because I have loved so vainly,

And sung with such faltering breath,

The Master in infinite mercy

Offers the boon of Death.

16
Life

1896

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!

17
The Poet and his Song

1896

A song is but a little thing,

And yet what joy it is to sing!

In hours of toil it gives me zest,

And when at eve I long for rest;

When cows come home along the bars,

And in the fold I hear the bell,

As Night, the shepherd, herds his stars,

I sing my song, and all is well.

There are no ears to hear my lays,

No lips to lift a word of praise;

But still, with faith unfaltering,

I live and laugh and love and sing.

What matters yon unheeding throng?

They cannot feel my spirit’s spell,

Since life is sweet and love is long,

I sing my song, and all is well.

My days are never days of ease;

I till my ground and prune my trees.

When ripened gold is all the plain,

I put my sickle to the grain.

I labor hard, and toil and sweat,

While others dream within the dell;

But even while my brow is wet,

I sing my song, and all is well.

Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot,

My garden makes a desert spot;

Sometimes a blight upon the tree

Takes all my fruit away from me;

And then with throes of bitter pain

Rebellious passions rise and swell;

But–life is more than fruit or grain,

And so I sing, and all is well.

18
Rain-Songs

1901

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,

He plays upon the harp-strings of the rain.

19
Morning

1901

The mist has left the greening plain,

The dew-drops shine like fairy rain,

The coquette rose awakes again

Her lovely self adorning.

The Wind is hiding in the trees,

A sighing, soothing, laughing tease,

Until the rose says “Kiss me, please,”

’Tis morning, ’tis morning.

With staff in hand and careless-free,

The wanderer fares right jauntily,

For towns and houses are, thinks he,

For scorning, for scorning.

My soul is swift upon the wing,

And in its deeps a song I bring;

Come, Love, and we together sing,

“’Tis morning, ’tis morning.”

20
Good-Night

1896

The lark is silent in his nest,

The breeze is sighing in its flight,

Sleep, Love, and peaceful be thy rest.

Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.

Sweet dreams attend thee in thy sleep,

To soothe thy rest till morning’s light,

And angels round thee vigil keep.

Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.

Sleep well, my love, on night’s dark breast,

And ease thy soul with slumber bright;

Be joy but thine and I am blest.

Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.

Table of Contents

- 1 - Whittier
- 2 - Sympathy
- 3 - The Lesson
- 4 - The Master-Player
- 5 - After the Quarrel
- 6 - October
- 7 - Dawn
- 8 - We Wear the Mask
- 9 - Lonesome
- 10 - Opportunity
- 11 - The Sparrow
- 12 - Not They Who Soar
- 13 - Dreams
- 14 - A Choice
- 15 – Compensation
- 16 - Life
- 17 - The Poet and his Song
- 18 - Rain-Songs
- 19 - Morning
- 20 - Good-Night