Page:The complete poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar.pdf/92

  I remember oft o' standin'
 * In my homespun pantaloons—

On my face the bronze an' freckles
 * O' the suns o' youthful Junes—

Thinkin' that no mortal minstrel
 * Ever chanted sich a lay

As the ol' tunes we was singin'
 * In the ol'-fashioned way.

The boys 'ud always lead us,
 * An' the girls 'ud all chime in

Till the sweetness o' the singin'
 * Robbed the list'nin' soul o' sin;

An' I used to tell the parson
 * 'T was as good to sing as pray,

When the people sung the ol' tunes
 * In the ol'-fashioned way.

How I long ag'in to hear 'em
 * Pourin' forth from soul to soul,

With the treble high an' meller,
 * An' the bass's mighty roll;

But the times is very diff'rent,
 * An' the music heerd to-day

Ain't the singin' o' the ol' tunes
 * In the ol'-fashioned way.

Little screechin' by a woman,
 * Little squawkin' by a man,

Then the organ's twiddle-twaddle,
 * Jest the empty space to span,—

An' ef you should even think it,
 * 'T is n't proper fur to say

That you want to hear the ol' tunes
 * In the ol'-fashioned way.

But I think that some bright mornin',
 * When the toils of life air o'er,

An' the sun o' heaven arisin'
 * Glads with light the happy shore,

I shall hear the angel chorus,
 * In the realms of endless day,

A-singin' o' the ol' tunes
 * In the ol'-fashioned way.

 

without my window,
 * Tapping gently at the pane,
 * Falls the rain.

Through the trees sighs the breeze
 * Like a soul in pain.

Here alone I sit and weep; Thought hath banished sleep.

Wearily I sit and listen
 * To the water's ceaseless drip.
 * To my lip

Fate turns up the bitter cup,
 * Forcing me to sip;

'T is a bitter, bitter drink, Thus I sit and think,—

Thinking things unknown and awful,
 * Thoughts on wild, uncanny themes,
 * Waking dreams.

Spectres dark, corpses stark,
 * Show the gaping seams

Whence the cold and cruel knife Stole away their life. 