Whut time 'd dat clock strike?
I didn't think hit was so late.
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.
I 've journeyed 'roun' consid'able, a-seein' men an' things,
An' I 've learned a little of the sense that meetin' people brings;
With sombre mien, the Evening gray
Comes nagging at the heels of Day,
And driven faster and still faster
By rugged ways and thro' the night
We struggle blindly toward the light;
And groping, stumbling, ever pray
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;
I don't believe in 'ristercrats
An' never did, you see;
The plain ol' homelike sorter folks
DONE are the toils and the wearisome marches,
Done is the summons of bugle and drum.
Softly and sweetly the sky overarches,
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,
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,