Page:The complete poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar.pdf/50

 

As a quiet little seedling
 * Lay within its darksome bed,

To itself it fell a-talking,
 * And this is what it said:

"I am not so very robust,
 * But I'll do the best I can;"

And the seedling from that moment
 * Its work of life began.

So it pushed a little leaflet
 * Up into the light of day,

To examine the surroundings
 * And show the rest the way.

The leaflet liked the prospect,
 * So it called its brother, Stem;

Then two other leaflets heard it,
 * And quickly followed them.

To be sure, the haste and hurry
 * Made the seedling sweat and pant;

But almost before it knew it
 * It found itself a plant.

The sunshine poured upon it,
 * And the clouds they gave a shower;

And the little plant kept growing
 * Till it found itself a flower.

Little folks, be like the seedling,
 * Always do the best you can;

Every child must share life's labor
 * Just as well as every man.

And the sun and showers will help you
 * Through the lonesome, struggling hours,

Till you raise to light and beauty
 * Virtue's fair, unfading flowers.

 

a rose within a garden fair, And, tending it with more than loving care, I thought how, with the glory of its bloom, I should the darkness of my life illume; And, watching, ever smiled to see the lusty bud Drink freely in the summer sun to tinct its blood.

My rose began to open, and its hue Was sweet to me as to it sun and dew; I watched it taking on its ruddy flame Until the day of perfect blooming came, Then hasted I with smiles to find it blushing red— Too late! Some thoughtless child had plucked my rose and fled!

"