Page:The complete poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar.pdf/318

  Gee there, Sal, you lazy brute! Wonder who on airth this weather Could 'a' be'n got up to suit? You, Sam, go bring a tin o' water; Dash it all, don't be so slow! 'Pears as ef you tuk an hour' 'Tween each step to stop an' blow, Think I want to stand a meltin' Out here in this b'ilin' sun, While you stop to think about it? Lift them feet o' your'n an' run. It ain't no use; I'm plumb fetageled, Come an' put this team away. I won't plow another furrer; It's too mortal hot to-day. I ain't weak, nor I ain't lazy, But I'll stand this half day's loss 'Fore I let the devil make me
 * Lose my patience an' git cross.

 

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; When skies are deepest blue above, And flow'rs aflush,—then most I love To start, while early dews are damp, And wend my way in woodland tramp Where forests rustle, tree on tree, And sing their silent songs to me; Where pathways meet and pathways part,— To walk with Nature heart by heart, Till wearied out at last I lie Where some sweet stream steals singing by A mossy bank; where violets vie In color with the summer sky,— Or take my rod and line and hook, And wander to some darkling brook, Where all day long the willows dream, And idly droop to kiss the stream, And there to loll from morn till night— Unheeding nibble, run, or bite— Just for the joy of being there And drinking in the summer air, The summer sounds, and summer sights, That set a restless mind to rights When grief and pain and raging doubt Of men and creeds have worn it out; The birds' song and the water's drone, The humming bees' low monotone, The murmur of the passing breeze, And all the sounds akin to these, That make a man in summer time 