Page:The complete poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar.pdf/74

 So joyous, too, the heavens o'er him
 * Were bright with an unchanging sun,—
 * His days with rhyme were overrun.

Toil had not taught him Nature's prose,
 * Tears had not dimmed his brilliant eyes,
 * And sorrow had not made him wise;

His life was in the budding rose.

I know not how I came to waken,
 * Some instinct pricked my soul to sight;

My heart by some vague thrill was shaken,—
 * A thrill so true and yet so slight,
 * I hardly deemed I read aright.

As when a sleeper, ign'rant why,
 * Not knowing what mysterious hand
 * Has called him out of slumber-land,

Starts up to find some danger nigh.

Love is a guest that comes, unbidden,
 * But, having come, asserts his right;

He will not be repressed nor hidden.
 * And so my brother's dawning plight
 * Became uncovered to my sight.

Some sound-mote in his passing tone
 * Caught in the meshes of my ear;
 * Some little glance, a shade too dear,

Betrayed the love he bore Ione.

What could I do? He was my brother,
 * And young, and full of hope and trust;

I could not, dared not try to smother
 * His flame, and turn his heart to dust,
 * I knew how oft life gives a crust

To starving men who cry for bread;
 * But he was young, so few his days,
 * He had not learned the great world's ways,

Nor Disappointment's volumes read.

However fair and rich the booty,
 * I could not make his loss my gain.

For love is dear, but dearer duty,
 * And here my way was clear and plain.