Paul Laurence Dunbar Poems

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.
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I 've journeyed 'roun' consid'able, a-seein' men an' things,
An' I 've learned a little of the sense that meetin' people brings;
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With sombre mien, the Evening gray
Comes nagging at the heels of Day,
And driven faster and still faster
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By rugged ways and thro' the night
We struggle blindly toward the light;
And groping, stumbling, ever pray
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When summer time has come, and all
The world is in the magic thrall
Of perfumed airs that lull each sense
To fits of drowsy indolence;
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I don't believe in 'ristercrats
An' never did, you see;
The plain ol' homelike sorter folks
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DONE are the toils and the wearisome marches,
Done is the summons of bugle and drum.
Softly and sweetly the sky overarches,
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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,
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GOODNIGHT, my love, for I have dreamed of thee,
In walking dreams, until my soul is lost —
Is lost in passion's wide and shoreless sea,
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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
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