Paul Laurence Dunbar Poems

'SUNSHINE on de medders,
Greenness on de way;
Dat's de blessed reason
I sing all de day.'
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KNOW you, winds that blow your course
Down the verdant valleys,
That somewhere you must, perforce,
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Wen de snow 's a-fallin'
An' de win' is col'.
Mammy 'mence a-callin',
Den she 'mence to scol',
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De axes has been ringin' in de woods de blessid day,
An' de chips has been a-fallin' fa' an' thick;
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Wen I git up in de mo'nin' an' de clouds is big an' black,
Dey's a kin' o' wa'nin' shivah goes a-scootin' down my back;
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Win' a-blowin' gentle so de san' lay low,
San' a little heavy f'om de rain,
All de pa'ms a-wavin' an' a-weavin' slow,
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You bid me hold my peace
And dry my fruitless tears,
Forgetting that I bear
A pain beyond my years.
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I have seen full many a sight
Born of day or drawn by night:
Sunlight on a silver stream,
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When August days are hot an' dry,
When burning copper is the sky,
I 'd rather fish than feast or fly
In airy realms serene and high.
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Air a-gittin' cool an' coolah,
Frost a-comin' in de night,
Hicka' nuts an' wa'nuts fallin',
Possum keepin' out o' sight.
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