Page:The complete poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar.pdf/51

 

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, I fenced it safely in with grateful toil. No other hand than mine shall pluck this flower, said I, And I was jealous of the bee that hovered nigh. It grew for days; I stood hour after hour To watch the slow unfolding of the flower, And then I did not leave its side at all, Lest some mischance my flower should befall. At last, oh joy! the central petals burst apart. It blossomed—but, alas! a worm was at its heart!  


 * My heart to thy heart,
 * My hand to thine;
 * My lip to thy lips,
 * Kisses are wine

Brewed for the lover in sunshine and shade; Let me drink deep, then, my African maid.


 * Lily to lily,
 * Rose unto rose;
 * My love to thy love
 * Tenderly grows.

Rend not the oak and the ivy in twain, Nor the swart maid from her swarthier swain,  

is gathahed hyeah, my brothahs,
 * In dis howlin' wildaness,

Fu' to speak some words of comfo't
 * To each othah in distress.

An' we chooses fu' ouah subjic'
 * Dis—we'll 'splain it by an by;
 * "An' de Lawd said, 'Moses, Moses,'

An' de man said, 'Hyeah am I.

Now ole Pher'oh, down in Egypt,
 * Was de wuss man evah bo'n,

An' he had de Hebrew chillun
 * Down dah wukin' in his co'n;

'T well de Lawd got tiahed o' his foolin',
 * An' sez he: "I'll let him know—

Look hyeah, Moses, go tell Pher'oh
 * Fu' to let dem chillun go."

