Page:The complete poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar.pdf/78

 An' when I tried to help him,
 * Why, the hull church scowled at me.

You say that's so-low singin',
 * Well, I pray the Lord that I

Growed up when folks was willin'
 * To sing their hymns so high.

Why, we never had sich doin's
 * In the good ol' Bethel days,

When the folks was all contented
 * With the simple songs of praise.

Now I may have spoke too open,
 * But 'twas too hard to keep still,

An' I hope you'll tell the singers
 * 'At I bear 'em no ill-will.

'At they all may git to glory
 * Is my wish an' my desire,

But they 'll need some extry trainin'
 * 'Fore they jine the heavenly choir.

you, winds that blow your course
 * Down the verdant valleys,

That somewhere you must, perforce,
 * Kiss the brow of Alice?

When her gentle face you find, Kiss it softly, naughty wind.

Roses waving fair and sweet
 * Thro' the garden alleys,

Grow into a glory meet
 * For the eye of Alice;

Let the wind your offering bear Of sweet perfume, faint and rare.

Lily holding crystal dew
 * In your pure white chalice,

Nature kind hath fashioned you
 * Like the soul of Alice;

It of purest white is wrought, Filled with gems of crystal thought.

So we, who've supped the selfsame cup,
 * To-night must lay our friendship by;

Your wrath has burned your judgment up,
 * Hot breath has blown the ashes high.

You say that you are wronged—ah, well,
 * I count that friendship poor, at best

A bauble, a mere bagatelle,
 * That cannot stand so slight a test.

I fain would still have been your friend,
 * And talked and laughed and loved with you;