Page:Claude McKay Constab Ballads.djvu/29

Rh

De harmless tabby o’ de house

Plays kindly wid de frightened mouse,

Till, when it nearly loses dread,

Good Lard! de little thing is dead.

So wid de man, toy of a Will

E’er playin’ with him to its fill,

To-day alive, to-morrow slain,—

Thus all our pleasure ends in pain.

Where’er I roam, whate’er the clime,

I’ll never know a happier time;

I seemed as happy as could be,

When—everything was torn from me.

De fateful day I ’member still,

De final breakin’ o’ my will,

Again de sayin’ o’ good-bye,

My poor heart’s silent wailin’ cry;

My life, my soul, my all be’n gone,

And ever since I am alone.