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diff --git a/17884.txt b/17884.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d89cd6e --- /dev/null +++ b/17884.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3015 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Fifty years & Other Poems, by James Weldon Johnson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Fifty years & Other Poems + +Author: James Weldon Johnson + +Commentator: Brander Matthews + +Release Date: March 1, 2006 [EBook #17884] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIFTY YEARS & OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + FIFTY YEARS & OTHER POEMS + + + BY + + JAMES WELDON JOHNSON + + AUTHOR OF + + "THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN EX-COLORED MAN," ETC. + + + + _With an Introduction by_ + + BRANDER MATTHEWS + + + + + THE CORNHILL COMPANY + BOSTON + 1917 + + + + +To + +G. N. F. + + + + +ACKNOWLEDGMENT + + +For permission to reprint certain poems in this book thanks are due to +the editors and proprietors of the _Century Magazine_, the +_Independent_, _The Crisis_, _The New York Times_, and the following +copyright holders, G. Ricordi and Company, G. Schirmer and Company, +and Joseph W. Stern and Company. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +Fifty Years + +To America + +O Black and Unknown Bards + +O Southland + +To Horace Bumstead + +The Color Sergeant + +The Black Mammy + +Father, Father Abraham + +Brothers + +Fragment + +The White Witch + +Mother Night + +The Young Warrior + +The Glory of the Day Was in Her Face + +From the Spanish of Placido + +From the Spanish + +From the German of Uhland + +Before a Painting + +I Hear the Stars Still Singing + +Girl of Fifteen + +The Suicide + +Down by the Carib Sea + I. Sunrise in the Tropics + II. Los Cigarillos +III. Teestay + IV. The Lottery Girl + V. The Dancing Girl + VI. Sunset in the Tropics + +The Greatest of These Is War + +A Mid-Day Dreamer + +The Temptress + +Ghosts of the Old Year + +The Ghost of Deacon Brown + +Lazy + +Omar + +Deep in the Quiet Wood + +Voluptas + +The Word of an Engineer + +Life + +Sleep + +Prayer at Sunrise + +The Gift to Sing + +Morning, Noon and Night + +Her Eyes Twin Pools + +The Awakening + +Beauty That Is Never Old + +Venus in a Garden + +Vashti + +The Reward + + +JINGLES & CROONS + + +Sence You Went Away + +Ma Lady's Lips Am Like de Honey + +Tunk + +Nobody's Lookin' but de Owl an' de Moon + +You's Sweet to Yo' Mammy Jes de Same + +A Plantation Bacchanal + +July in Georgy + +A Banjo Song + +Answer to Prayer + +Dat Gal o' Mine + +The Seasons + +'Possum Song + +Brer Rabbit, You'se de Cutes' of 'Em All + +An Explanation + +De Little Pickaninny's Gone to Sleep + +The Rivals + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +Of the hundred millions who make up the population of the United +States ten millions come from a stock ethnically alien to the other +ninety millions. They are not descended from ancestors who came here +voluntarily, in the spirit of adventure to better themselves or in the +spirit of devotion to make sure of freedom to worship God in their own +way. They are the grandchildren of men and women brought here against +their wills to serve as slaves. It is only half-a-century since they +received their freedom and since they were at last permitted to own +themselves. They are now American citizens, with the rights and the +duties of other American citizens; and they know no language, no +literature and no law other than those of their fellow citizens of +Anglo-Saxon ancestry. + +When we take stock of ourselves these ten millions cannot be left out +of account. Yet they are not as we are; they stand apart, more or +less; they have their own distinct characteristics. It behooves us to +understand them as best we can and to discover what manner of people +they are. And we are justified in inquiring how far they have revealed +themselves, their racial characteristics, their abiding traits, their +longing aspirations,--how far have they disclosed these in one or +another of the several arts. They have had their poets, their +painters, their composers, and yet most of these have ignored their +racial opportunity and have worked in imitation and in emulation of +their white predecessors and contemporaries, content to handle again +the traditional themes. The most important and the most significant +contributions they have made to art are in music,--first in the +plaintive beauty of the so-called "Negro spirituals"--and, secondly, +in the syncopated melody of so-called "ragtime" which has now taken +the whole world captive. + +In poetry, especially in the lyric, wherein the soul is free to find +full expression for its innermost emotions, their attempts have been, +for the most part, divisible into two classes. In the first of these may +be grouped the verses in which the lyrist put forth sentiments common to +all mankind and in no wise specifically those of his own race; and from +the days of Phyllis Wheatley to the present the most of the poems +written by men who were not wholly white are indistinguishable from the +poems written by men who were wholly white. Whatever their merits might +be, these verses cast little or no light upon the deeper racial +sentiments of the people to whom the poets themselves belonged. But in +the lyrics to be grouped in the second of these classes there was a +racial quality. This contained the dialect verses in which there was an +avowed purpose of recapturing the color, the flavor, the movement of +life in "the quarters," in the cotton field and in the canebrake. Even +in this effort, white authors had led the way; Irvin Russell and Joel +Chandler Harris had made the path straight for Paul Laurence Dunbar, +with his lilting lyrics, often infused with the pathos of a down-trodden +folk. + +In the following pages Mr. James Weldon Johnson conforms to both of +these traditions. He gathers together a group of lyrics, delicate in +workmanship, fragrant with sentiment, and phrased in pure and +unexceptionable English. Then he has another group of dialect verses, +racy of the soil, pungent in flavor, swinging in rhythm and adroit in +rhyme. But where he shows himself a pioneer is the half-dozen larger +and bolder poems, of a loftier strain, in which he has been nobly +successful in expressing the higher aspirations of his own people. It +is in uttering this cry for recognition, for sympathy, for +understanding, and above all, for justice, that Mr. Johnson is most +original and most powerful. In the superb and soaring stanzas of +"Fifty Years" (published exactly half-a-century after the signing of +the Emancipation Proclamation) he has given us one of the noblest +commemorative poems yet written by any American,--a poem sonorous in +its diction, vigorous in its workmanship, elevated in its imagination +and sincere in its emotion. In it speaks the voice of his race; and +the race is fortunate in its spokesman. In it a fine theme has been +finely treated. In it we are made to see something of the soul of the +people who are our fellow citizens now and forever,--even if we do not +always so regard them. In it we are glad to acclaim a poem which any +living poet might be proud to call his own. + +BRANDER MATTHEWS. + +_Columbia University +in the City of New York._ + + + + +FIFTY YEARS & OTHER POEMS + +FIFTY YEARS + +1863-1913 + + + O brothers mine, to-day we stand + Where half a century sweeps our ken, + Since God, through Lincoln's ready hand, + Struck off our bonds and made us men. + + Just fifty years--a winter's day-- + As runs the history of a race; + Yet, as we look back o'er the way, + How distant seems our starting place! + + Look farther back! Three centuries! + To where a naked, shivering score, + Snatched from their haunts across the seas, + Stood, wild-eyed, on Virginia's shore. + + Far, far the way that we have trod, + From heathen kraals and jungle dens, + To freedmen, freemen, sons of God, + Americans and Citizens. + + A part of His unknown design, + We've lived within a mighty age; + And we have helped to write a line + On history's most wondrous page. + + A few black bondmen strewn along + The borders of our eastern coast, + Now grown a race, ten million strong, + An upward, onward marching host. + + Then let us here erect a stone, + To mark the place, to mark the time; + A witness to God's mercies shown, + A pledge to hold this day sublime. + + And let that stone an altar be, + Whereon thanksgivings we may lay, + Where we, in deep humility, + For faith and strength renewed may pray. + + With open hearts ask from above + New zeal, new courage and new pow'rs, + That we may grow more worthy of + This country and this land of ours. + + For never let the thought arise + That we are here on sufferance bare; + Outcasts, asylumed 'neath these skies, + And aliens without part or share. + + This land is ours by right of birth, + This land is ours by right of toil; + We helped to turn its virgin earth, + Our sweat is in its fruitful soil. + + Where once the tangled forest stood,-- + Where flourished once rank weed and thorn,-- + Behold the path-traced, peaceful wood, + The cotton white, the yellow corn. + + To gain these fruits that have been earned, + To hold these fields that have been won, + Our arms have strained, our backs have burned, + Bent bare beneath a ruthless sun. + + That Banner which is now the type + Of victory on field and flood-- + Remember, its first crimson stripe + Was dyed by Attucks' willing blood. + + And never yet has come the cry-- + When that fair flag has been assailed-- + For men to do, for men to die, + That have we faltered or have failed. + + We've helped to bear it, rent and torn, + Through many a hot-breath'd battle breeze; + Held in our hands, it has been borne + And planted far across the seas. + + And never yet--O haughty Land, + Let us, at least, for this be praised-- + Has one black, treason-guided hand + Ever against that flag been raised. + + Then should we speak but servile words, + Or shall we hang our heads in shame? + Stand back of new-come foreign hordes, + And fear our heritage to claim? + + No! stand erect and without fear, + And for our foes let this suffice-- + We've bought a rightful sonship here, + And we have more than paid the price. + + And yet, my brothers, well I know + The tethered feet, the pinioned wings, + The spirit bowed beneath the blow, + The heart grown faint from wounds and stings; + + The staggering force of brutish might, + That strikes and leaves us stunned and daezd; + The long, vain waiting through the night + To hear some voice for justice raised. + + Full well I know the hour when hope + Sinks dead, and 'round us everywhere + Hangs stifling darkness, and we grope + With hands uplifted in despair. + + Courage! Look out, beyond, and see + The far horizon's beckoning span! + Faith in your God-known destiny! + We are a part of some great plan. + + Because the tongues of Garrison + And Phillips now are cold in death, + Think you their work can be undone? + Or quenched the fires lit by their breath? + + Think you that John Brown's spirit stops? + That Lovejoy was but idly slain? + Or do you think those precious drops + From Lincoln's heart were shed in vain? + + That for which millions prayed and sighed, + That for which tens of thousands fought, + For which so many freely died, + God cannot let it come to naught. + + + + +TO AMERICA + + + How would you have us, as we are? + Or sinking 'neath the load we bear? + Our eyes fixed forward on a star? + Or gazing empty at despair? + + Rising or falling? Men or things? + With dragging pace or footsteps fleet? + Strong, willing sinews in your wings? + Or tightening chains about your feet? + + + + +O BLACK AND UNKNOWN BARDS + + + O black and unknown bards of long ago, + How came your lips to touch the sacred fire? + How, in your darkness, did you come to know + The power and beauty of the minstrel's lyre? + Who first from midst his bonds lifted his eyes? + Who first from out the still watch, lone and long, + Feeling the ancient faith of prophets rise + Within his dark-kept soul, burst into song? + + Heart of what slave poured out such melody + As "Steal away to Jesus"? On its strains + His spirit must have nightly floated free, + Though still about his hands he felt his chains. + Who heard great "Jordan roll"? Whose starward eye + Saw chariot "swing low"? And who was he + That breathed that comforting, melodic sigh, + "Nobody knows de trouble I see"? + + What merely living clod, what captive thing, + Could up toward God through all its darkness grope, + And find within its deadened heart to sing + These songs of sorrow, love, and faith, and hope? + How did it catch that subtle undertone, + That note in music heard not with the ears? + How sound the elusive reed so seldom blown, + Which stirs the soul or melts the heart to tears. + + Not that great German master in his dream + Of harmonies that thundered amongst the stars + At the creation, ever heard a theme + Nobler than "Go down, Moses." Mark its bars, + How like a mighty trumpet-call they stir + The blood. Such are the notes that men have sung + Going to valorous deeds; such tones there were + That helped make history when Time was young. + + There is a wide, wide wonder in it all, + That from degraded rest and servile toil + The fiery spirit of the seer should call + These simple children of the sun and soil. + O black slave singers, gone, forgot, unfamed, + You--you alone, of all the long, long line + Of those who've sung untaught, unknown, unnamed, + Have stretched out upward, seeking the divine. + + You sang not deeds of heroes or of kings; + No chant of bloody war, no exulting pean + Of arms-won triumphs; but your humble strings + You touched in chord with music empyrean. + You sang far better than you knew; the songs + That for your listeners' hungry hearts sufficed + Still live,--but more than this to you belongs: + You sang a race from wood and stone to Christ. + + + + +O SOUTHLAND! + + + O Southland! O Southland! + Have you not heard the call, + The trumpet blown, the word made known + To the nations, one and all? + The watchword, the hope-word, + Salvation's present plan? + A gospel new, for all--for you: + Man shall be saved by man. + + O Southland! O Southland! + Do you not hear to-day + The mighty beat of onward feet, + And know you not their way? + 'Tis forward, 'tis upward, + On to the fair white arch + Of Freedom's dome, and there is room + For each man who would march. + + O Southland, fair Southland! + Then why do you still cling + To an idle age and a musty page, + To a dead and useless thing? + 'Tis springtime! 'Tis work-time! + The world is young again! + And God's above, and God is love, + And men are only men. + + O Southland! my Southland! + O birthland! do not shirk + The toilsome task, nor respite ask, + But gird you for the work. + Remember, remember + That weakness stalks in pride; + That he is strong who helps along + The faint one at his side. + + + + +_To_ HORACE BUMSTEAD + + + Have you been sore discouraged in the fight, + And even sometimes weighted by the thought + That those with whom and those for whom you fought + Lagged far behind, or dared but faintly smite? + And that the opposing forces in their might + Of blind inertia rendered as for naught + All that throughout the long years had been wrought, + And powerless each blow for Truth and Right? + + If so, take new and greater courage then, + And think no more withouten help you stand; + For sure as God on His eternal throne + Sits, mindful of the sinful deeds of men, + --The awful Sword of Justice in His hand,-- + You shall not, no, you shall not, fight alone. + + + + +THE COLOR SERGEANT + +(_On an Incident at the Battle of San Juan Hill_) + + + Under a burning tropic sun, + With comrades around him lying, + A trooper of the sable Tenth + Lay wounded, bleeding, dying. + + First in the charge up the fort-crowned hill, + His company's guidon bearing, + He had rushed where the leaden hail fell fast, + Not death nor danger fearing. + + He fell in the front where the fight grew fierce, + Still faithful in life's last labor; + Black though his skin, yet his heart as true + As the steel of his blood-stained saber. + + And while the battle around him rolled, + Like the roar of a sullen breaker, + He closed his eyes on the bloody scene, + And presented arms to his Maker. + + There he lay, without honor or rank, + But, still, in a grim-like beauty; + Despised of men for his humble race, + Yet true, in death, to his duty. + + + + +THE BLACK MAMMY + + + O whitened head entwined in turban gay, + O kind black face, O crude, but tender hand, + O foster-mother in whose arms there lay + The race whose sons are masters of the land! + It was thine arms that sheltered in their fold, + It was thine eyes that followed through the length + Of infant days these sons. In times of old + It was thy breast that nourished them to strength. + + So often hast thou to thy bosom pressed + The golden head, the face and brow of snow; + So often has it 'gainst thy broad, dark breast + Lain, set off like a quickened cameo. + Thou simple soul, as cuddling down that babe + With thy sweet croon, so plaintive and so wild, + Came ne'er the thought to thee, swift like a stab, + That it some day might crush thine own black child? + + + + +FATHER, FATHER ABRAHAM + +(_On the Anniversary of Lincoln's Birth_) + + + Father, Father Abraham, + To-day look on us from above; + On us, the offspring of thy faith, + The children of thy Christ-like love. + + For that which we have humbly wrought, + Give us to-day thy kindly smile; + Wherein we've failed or fallen short, + Bear with us, Father, yet awhile. + + Father, Father Abraham, + To-day we lift our hearts to thee, + Filled with the thought of what great price + Was paid, that we might ransomed be. + + To-day we consecrate ourselves + Anew in hand and heart and brain, + To send this judgment down the years: + The ransom was not paid in vain. + + + + +BROTHERS + + + See! There he stands; not brave, but with an air + Of sullen stupor. Mark him well! Is he + Not more like brute than man? Look in his eye! + No light is there; none, save the glint that shines + In the now glaring, and now shifting orbs + Of some wild animal caught in the hunter's trap. + + How came this beast in human shape and form? + Speak, man!--We call you man because you wear + His shape--How are you thus? Are you not from + That docile, child-like, tender-hearted race + Which we have known three centuries? Not from + That more than faithful race which through three wars + Fed our dear wives and nursed our helpless babes + Without a single breach of trust? Speak out! + + I am, and am not. + + Then who, why are you? + + I am a thing not new, I am as old + As human nature. I am that which lurks, + Ready to spring whenever a bar is loosed; + The ancient trait which fights incessantly + Against restraint, balks at the upward climb; + The weight forever seeking to obey + The law of downward pull;--and I am more: + The bitter fruit am I of planted seed; + The resultant, the inevitable end + Of evil forces and the powers of wrong. + + Lessons in degradation, taught and learned, + The memories of cruel sights and deeds, + The pent-up bitterness, the unspent hate + Filtered through fifteen generations have + Sprung up and found in me sporadic life. + In me the muttered curse of dying men, + On me the stain of conquered women, and + Consuming me the fearful fires of lust, + Lit long ago, by other hands than mine. + In me the down-crushed spirit, the hurled-back prayers + Of wretches now long dead,--their dire bequests.-- + In me the echo of the stifled cry + Of children for their bartered mothers' breasts. + I claim no race, no race claims me; I am + No more than human dregs; degenerate; + The monstrous offspring of the monster, Sin; + I am--just what I am.... The race that fed + Your wives and nursed your babes would do the same + To-day, but I-- + + Enough, the brute must die! + Quick! Chain him to that oak! It will resist + The fire much longer than this slender pine. + Now bring the fuel! Pile it 'round him! Wait! + Pile not so fast or high! or we shall lose + The agony and terror in his face. + And now the torch! Good fuel that! the flames + Already leap head-high. Ha! hear that shriek! + And there's another! wilder than the first. + Fetch water! Water! Pour a little on + The fire, lest it should burn too fast. Hold so! + Now let it slowly blaze again. See there! + He squirms! He groans! His eyes bulge wildly out, + Searching around in vain appeal for help! + Another shriek, the last! Watch how the flesh + Grows crisp and hangs till, turned to ash, it sifts + Down through the coils of chain that hold erect + The ghastly frame against the bark-scorched tree. + + Stop! to each man no more than one man's share. + You take that bone, and you this tooth; the chain-- + Let us divide its links; this skull, of course, + In fair division, to the leader comes. + + And now his fiendish crime has been avenged; + Let us back to our wives and children.--Say, + What did he mean by those last muttered words, + "Brothers in spirit, brothers in deed are we"? + + + + +FRAGMENT + + + The hand of Fate cannot be stayed, + The course of Fate cannot be steered, + By all the gods that man has made, + Nor all the devils he has feared, + Not by the prayers that might be prayed + In all the temples he has reared. + + See! In your very midst there dwell + Ten thousand thousand blacks, a wedge + Forged in the furnaces of hell, + And sharpened to a cruel edge + By wrong and by injustice fell, + And driven by hatred as a sledge. + + A wedge so slender at the start-- + Just twenty slaves in shackles bound-- + And yet, which split the land apart + With shrieks of war and battle sound, + Which pierced the nation's very heart, + And still lies cankering in the wound. + + Not all the glory of your pride, + Preserved in story and in song, + Can from the judging future hide, + Through all the coming ages long, + That though you bravely fought and died, + You fought and died for what was wrong. + + 'Tis fixed--for them that violate + The eternal laws, naught shall avail + Till they their error expiate; + Nor shall their unborn children fail + To pay the full required weight + Into God's great, unerring scale. + + Think not repentance can redeem, + That sin his wages can withdraw; + No, think as well to change the scheme + Of worlds that move in reverent awe; + Forgiveness is an idle dream, + God is not love, no, God is law. + + + + +THE WHITE WITCH + + + O, brothers mine, take care! Take care! + The great white witch rides out to-night, + Trust not your prowess nor your strength; + Your only safety lies in flight; + For in her glance there is a snare, + And in her smile there is a blight. + + The great white witch you have not seen? + Then, younger brothers mine, forsooth, + Like nursery children you have looked + For ancient hag and snaggled tooth; + But no, not so; the witch appears + In all the glowing charms of youth. + + Her lips are like carnations red, + Her face like new-born lilies fair, + Her eyes like ocean waters blue, + She moves with subtle grace and air, + And all about her head there floats + The golden glory of her hair. + + But though she always thus appears + In form of youth and mood of mirth, + Unnumbered centuries are hers, + The infant planets saw her birth; + The child of throbbing Life is she, + Twin sister to the greedy earth. + + And back behind those smiling lips, + And down within those laughing eyes, + And underneath the soft caress + Of hand and voice and purring sighs, + The shadow of the panther lurks, + The spirit of the vampire lies. + + For I have seen the great white witch, + And she has led me to her lair, + And I have kissed her red, red lips + And cruel face so white and fair; + Around me she has twined her arms, + And bound me with her yellow hair. + + I felt those red lips burn and sear + My body like a living coal; + Obeyed the power of those eyes + As the needle trembles to the pole; + And did not care although I felt + The strength go ebbing from my soul. + + Oh! she has seen your strong young limbs, + And heard your laughter loud and gay, + And in your voices she has caught + The echo of a far-off day, + When man was closer to the earth; + And she has marked you for her prey. + + She feels the old Antaean strength + In you, the great dynamic beat + Of primal passions, and she sees + In you the last besieged retreat + Of love relentless, lusty, fierce, + Love pain-ecstatic, cruel-sweet. + + O, brothers mine, take care! Take care! + The great white witch rides out to-night. + O, younger brothers mine, beware! + Look not upon her beauty bright; + For in her glance there is a snare, + And in her smile there is a blight. + + + + +MOTHER NIGHT + + + Eternities before the first-born day, + Or ere the first sun fledged his wings of flame, + Calm Night, the everlasting and the same, + A brooding mother over chaos lay. + And whirling suns shall blaze and then decay, + Shall run their fiery courses and then claim + The haven of the darkness whence they came; + Back to Nirvanic peace shall grope their way. + + So when my feeble sun of life burns out, + And sounded is the hour for my long sleep, + I shall, full weary of the feverish light, + Welcome the darkness without fear or doubt, + And heavy-lidded, I shall softly creep + Into the quiet bosom of the Night. + + + + +THE YOUNG WARRIOR + + + Mother, shed no mournful tears, + But gird me on my sword; + And give no utterance to thy fears, + But bless me with thy word. + + The lines are drawn! The fight is on! + A cause is to be won! + Mother, look not so white and wan; + Give Godspeed to thy son. + + Now let thine eyes my way pursue + Where'er my footsteps fare; + And when they lead beyond thy view, + Send after me a prayer. + + But pray not to defend from harm, + Nor danger to dispel; + Pray, rather, that with steadfast arm + I fight the battle well. + + Pray, mother of mine, that I always keep + My heart and purpose strong, + My sword unsullied and ready to leap + Unsheathed against the wrong. + + + + +THE GLORY OF THE DAY WAS IN HER FACE + + + The glory of the day was in her face, + The beauty of the night was in her eyes. + And over all her loveliness, the grace + Of Morning blushing in the early skies. + + And in her voice, the calling of the dove; + Like music of a sweet, melodious part. + And in her smile, the breaking light of love; + And all the gentle virtues in her heart. + + And now the glorious day, the beauteous night, + The birds that signal to their mates at dawn, + To my dull ears, to my tear-blinded sight + Are one with all the dead, since she is gone. + + + + +SONNET + +(_From the Spanish of Placido_) + + + Enough of love! Let break its every hold! + Ended my youthful folly! for I know + That, like the dazzling, glister-shedding snow, + Celia, thou art beautiful, but cold. + I do not find in thee that warmth which glows, + Which, all these dreary days, my heart has sought, + That warmth without which love is lifeless, naught + More than a painted fruit, a waxen rose. + + Such love as thine, scarce can it bear love's name, + Deaf to the pleading notes of his sweet lyre, + A frank, impulsive heart I wish to claim, + A heart that blindly follows its desire. + I wish to embrace a woman full of flame, + I want to kiss a woman made of fire. + + + + +FROM THE SPANISH + + + Twenty years go by on noiseless feet, + He returns, and once again they meet, + She exclaims, "Good heavens! and is that he?" + He mutters, "My God! and that is she!" + + + + +FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND + + + Three students once tarried over the Rhine, + And into Frau Wirthin's turned to dine. + + "Say, hostess, have you good beer and wine? + And where is that pretty daughter of thine?" + + "My beer and wine is fresh and clear. + My daughter lies on her funeral bier." + + They softly tipped into the room; + She lay there in the silent gloom. + + The first the white cloth gently raised, + And tearfully upon her gazed. + + "If thou wert alive, O, lovely maid, + My heart at thy feet would to-day be laid!" + + The second covered her face again, + And turned away with grief and pain. + + "Ah, thou upon thy snow-white bier! + And I have loved thee so many a year." + + The third drew back again the veil, + And kissed the lips so cold and pale. + + "I've loved thee always, I love thee to-day, + And will love thee, yes, forever and aye!" + + + + +BEFORE A PAINTING + + + I knew not who had wrought with skill so fine + What I beheld; nor by what laws of art + He had created life and love and heart + On canvas, from mere color, curve and line. + Silent I stood and made no move or sign; + Not with the crowd, but reverently apart; + Nor felt the power my rooted limbs to start, + But mutely gazed upon that face divine. + + And over me the sense of beauty fell, + As music over a raptured listener to + The deep-voiced organ breathing out a hymn; + Or as on one who kneels, his beads to tell, + There falls the aureate glory filtered through + The windows in some old cathedral dim. + + + + +I HEAR THE STARS STILL SINGING + + + I hear the stars still singing + To the beautiful, silent night, + As they speed with noiseless winging + Their ever westward flight. + I hear the waves still falling + On the stretch of lonely shore, + But the sound of a sweet voice calling + I shall hear, alas! no more. + + + + +GIRL OF FIFTEEN + + + Girl of fifteen, + I see you each morning from my window + As you pass on your way to school. + I do more than see, I watch you. + I furtively draw the curtain aside. + And my heart leaps through my eyes + And follows you down the street; + Leaving me behind, half-hid + And wholly ashamed. + + What holds me back, + Half-hid behind the curtains and wholly ashamed, + But my forty years beyond your fifteen? + + Girl of fifteen, as you pass + There passes, too, a lightning flash of time + In which you lift those forty summers off my head, + And take those forty winters out of my heart. + + + + +THE SUICIDE + + + For fifty years, + Cruel, insatiable Old World, + You have punched me over the heart + Till you made me cough blood. + The few paltry things I gathered + You snatched out of my hands. + You have knocked the cup from my thirsty lips. + You have laughed at my hunger of body and soul. + + You look at me now and think, + "He is still strong, + There ought to be twenty more years of good punching there. + At the end of that time he will be old and broken, + Not able to strike back, + But cringing and crying for leave + To live a little longer." + + Those twenty, pitiful, extra years + Would please you more than the fifty past, + Would they not, Old World? + Well, I hold them up before your greedy eyes, + And snatch them away as I laugh in your face, + Ha! Ha! + Bang--! + + + + +DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA + +I + +_Sunrise in the Tropics_ + + + Sol, Sol, mighty lord of the tropic zone, + Here I wait with the trembling stars + To see thee once more take thy throne. + + There the patient palm tree watching + Waits to say, "Good morn" to thee, + And a throb of expectation + Pulses through the earth and me. + + Now, o'er nature falls a hush, + Look! the East is all a-blush; + And a growing crimson crest + Dims the late stars in the west; + Now, a flood of golden light + Sweeps across the silver night, + Swift the pale moon fades away + Before the light-girt King of Day, + See! the miracle is done! + Once more behold! The Sun! + + +II + +_Los Cigarillos_ + + + This is the land of the dark-eyed _gente_, + Of the _dolce far niente_, + Where we dream away + Both the night and day, + At night-time in sleep our dreams we invoke, + Our dreams come by day through the redolent smoke, + As it lazily curls, + And slowly unfurls + From our lips, + And the tips + Of our fragrant _cigarillos_. + For life in the tropics is only a joke, + So we pass it in dreams, and we pass it in smoke, + Smoke--smoke--smoke. + + Tropical constitutions + Call for occasional revolutions; + But after that's through, + Why there's nothing to do + But smoke--smoke; + + For life in the tropics is only a joke, + So we pass it in dreams, and we pass it in smoke, + Smoke--smoke--smoke. + + +III + +_Teestay_ + + + Of tropic sensations, the worst + Is, _sin duda_, the tropical thirst. + + When it starts in your throat and constantly grows, + Till you feel that it reaches down to your toes, + When your mouth tastes like fur + And your tongue turns to dust, + There's but one thing to do, + And do it you must, + Drink _teestay_. + + _Teestay_, a drink with a history, + A delicious, delectable mystery, + "_Cinco centavos el vaso, senor_," + If you take one, you will surely want more. + + _Teestay, teestay_, + The national drink on a feast day; + How it coolingly tickles, + As downward it trickles, + _Teestay, teestay_. + + And you wish, as you take it down at a quaff, + That your neck was constructed a la giraffe. + _Teestay, teestay_. + + +IV + +_The Lottery Girl_ + + + "Lottery, lottery, + Take a chance at the lottery? + Take a ticket, + Or, better, take two; + Who knows what the future + May hold for you? + Lottery, lottery, + Take a chance at the lottery?" + + Oh, limpid-eyed girl, + I would take every chance, + If only the prize + Were a love-flashing glance + From your fathomless eyes. + + "Lottery, lottery, + Try your luck at the lottery? + Consider the size + Of the capital prize, + And take tickets + For the lottery. + Tickets, _senor_? Tickets, _senor_? + Take a chance at the lottery?" + + Oh, crimson-lipped girl, + With the magical smile, + I would count that the gamble + Were well worth the while, + Not a chance would I miss, + If only the prize + Were a honey-bee kiss + Gathered in sips + From those full-ripened lips, + And a love-flashing glance + From your eyes. + + +V + +_The Dancing Girl_ + + + Do you know what it is to dance? + Perhaps, you do know, in a fashion; + But by dancing I mean, + Not what's generally seen, + But dancing of fire and passion, + Of fire and delirious passion. + + With a dusky-haired _senorita_, + Her dark, misty eyes near your own, + And her scarlet-red mouth, + Like a rose of the south, + The reddest that ever was grown, + So close that you catch + Her quick-panting breath + As across your own face it is blown, + With a sigh, and a moan. + + Ah! that is dancing, + As here by the Carib it's known. + + Now, whirling and twirling + Like furies we go; + Now, soft and caressing + And sinuously slow; + With an undulating motion, + Like waves on a breeze-kissed ocean:-- + And the scarlet-red mouth + Is nearer your own, + And the dark, misty eyes + Still softer have grown. + + Ah! that is dancing, that is loving, + As here by the Carib they're known. + + +VI + +_Sunset in the Tropics_ + + + A silver flash from the sinking sun, + Then a shot of crimson across the sky + That, bursting, lets a thousand colors fly + And riot among the clouds; they run, + Deepening in purple, flaming in gold, + Changing, and opening fold after fold, + Then fading through all of the tints of the rose into gray, + Till, taking quick fright at the coming night, + They rush out down the west, + In hurried quest + Of the fleeing day. + + Now above where the tardiest color flares a moment yet, + One point of light, now two, now three are set + To form the starry stairs,-- + And, in her fire-fly crown, + Queen Night, on velvet slippered feet, comes softly down. + + + + +AND THE GREATEST OF THESE IS WAR + + + Around the council-board of Hell, with Satan at their head, + The Three Great Scourges of humanity sat. + Gaunt Famine, with hollow cheek and voice, arose and spoke,-- + "O, Prince, I have stalked the earth, + And my victims by ten thousands I have slain, + I have smitten old and young. + Mouths of the helpless old moaning for bread, I have filled with dust; + And I have laughed to see a crying babe tug at the shriveling breast + Of its mother, dead and cold. + I have heard the cries and prayers of men go up to a tearless sky, + And fall back upon an earth of ashes; + But, heedless, I have gone on with my work. + 'Tis thus, O, Prince, that I have scourged mankind." + + And Satan nodded his head. + + Pale Pestilence, with stenchful breath, then spoke and said,-- + "Great Prince, my brother, Famine, attacks the poor. + He is most terrible against the helpless and the old. + But I have made a charnel-house of the mightiest cities of men. + When I strike, neither their stores of gold or of grain avail. + With a breath I lay low their strongest, and wither up their fairest. + I come upon them without warning, lancing invisible death. + From me they flee with eyes and mouths distended; + I poison the air for which they gasp, and I strike them down fleeing. + 'Tis thus, great Prince, that I have scourged mankind." + + And Satan nodded his head. + + Then the red monster, War, rose up and spoke,-- + His blood-shot eyes glared 'round him, and his thundering voice + Echoed through the murky vaults of Hell.-- + "O, mighty Prince, my brothers, Famine and Pestilence, + Have slain their thousands and ten thousands,--true; + But the greater their victories have been, + The more have they wakened in Man's breast + The God-like attributes of sympathy, of brotherhood and love + And made of him a searcher after wisdom. + But I arouse in Man the demon and the brute, + I plant black hatred in his heart and red revenge. + From the summit of fifty thousand years of upward climb + I haul him down to the level of the start, back to the wolf. + I give him claws. + I set his teeth into his brother's throat. + I make him drunk with his brother's blood. + And I laugh ho! ho! while he destroys himself. + O, mighty Prince, not only do I slay, + But I draw Man hellward." + + And Satan smiled, stretched out his hand, and said,-- + "O War, of all the scourges of humanity, I crown you chief." + + And Hell rang with the acclamation of the Fiends. + + + + +A MID-DAY DREAMER + + + I love to sit alone, and dream, + And dream, and dream; + In fancy's boat to softly glide + Along some stream + Where fairy palaces of gold + And crystal bright + Stand all along the glistening shore: + A wondrous sight. + + My craft is built of ivory, + With silver oars, + The sails are spun of golden threads, + And priceless stores + Of precious gems adorn its prow, + And 'round its mast + An hundred silken cords are set + To hold it fast. + + My galley-slaves are sprightly elves + Who, as they row, + And as their shining oars they swing + Them to and fro, + Keep time to music wafted on + The scented air, + Made by the mermaids as they comb + Their golden hair. + + And I the while lie idly back, + And dream, and dream, + And let them row me where they will + Adown the stream. + + + + +THE TEMPTRESS + + + Old Devil, when you come with horns and tail, + With diabolic grin and crafty leer; + I say, such bogey-man devices wholly fail + To waken in my heart a single fear. + + But when you wear a form I know so well, + A form so human, yet so near divine; + 'Tis then I fall beneath the magic of your spell, + 'Tis then I know the vantage is not mine. + + Ah! when you take your horns from off your head, + And soft and fragrant hair is in their place; + I must admit I fear the tangled path I tread + When that dear head is laid against my face. + + And at what time you change your baleful eyes + For stars that melt into the gloom of night, + All of my courage, my dear fellow, quickly flies; + I know my chance is slim to win the fight. + + And when, instead of charging down to wreck + Me on a red-hot pitchfork in your hand, + You throw a pair of slender arms about my neck, + I dare not trust the ground on which I stand. + + Whene'er in place of using patent wile, + Or trying to frighten me with horrid grin, + You tempt me with two crimson lips curved in a smile; + Old Devil, I must really own, you win. + + + + +GHOSTS OF THE OLD YEAR + + + The snow has ceased its fluttering flight, + The wind sunk to a whisper light, + An ominous stillness fills the night, + A pause--a hush. + At last, a sound that breaks the spell, + Loud, clanging mouthings of a bell, + That through the silence peal and swell, + And roll, and rush. + + What does this brazen tongue declare, + That falling on the midnight air + Brings to my heart a sense of care + Akin to fright? + 'Tis telling that the year is dead, + The New Year come, the Old Year fled, + Another leaf before me spread + On which to write. + + It tells the deeds that were not done, + It tells of races never run, + Of victories that were not won, + Barriers unleaped. + It tells of many a squandered day, + Of slighted gems and treasured clay, + Of precious stores not laid away, + Of fields unreaped. + + And so the years go swiftly by, + Each, coming, brings ambitions high, + And each, departing, leaves a sigh + Linked to the past. + Large resolutions, little deeds; + Thus, filled with aims unreached, life speeds + Until the blotted record reads, + "Failure!" at last. + + + + +THE GHOST OF DEACON BROWN + + + In a backwoods town + Lived Deacon Brown, + And he was a miser old; + He would trust no bank, + So he dug, and sank + In the ground a box of gold, + Down deep in the ground a box of gold. + + He hid his gold, + As has been told, + He remembered that he did it; + But sad to say, + On the very next day, + He forgot just where he hid it: + To find his gold he tried and tried + Till he grew faint and sick, and died. + + Then on each dark and gloomy night + A form in phosphorescent white, + A genuine hair-raising sight, + Would wander through the town. + And as it slowly roamed around, + With a spade it dug each foot of ground; + So the folks about + Said there was no doubt + 'Twas the ghost of Deacon Brown. + + Around the church + This Ghost would search, + And whenever it would see + The passers-by + Take wings and fly + It would laugh in ghostly glee, + Hee, hee!--it would laugh in ghostly glee. + + And so the town + Went quickly down, + For they said that it was haunted; + And doors and gates, + So the story states, + Bore a notice, "Tenants wanted." + + And the town is now for let, + But the ghost is digging yet. + + + + +"LAZY" + + + Some men enjoy the constant strife + Of days with work and worry rife, + But that is not my dream of life: + I think such men are crazy. + For me, a life with worries few, + A job of nothing much to do, + Just pelf enough to see me through: + I fear that I am lazy. + + On winter mornings cold and drear, + When six o'clock alarms I hear, + 'Tis then I love to shift my ear, + And hug my downy pillows. + When in the shade it's ninety-three, + No job in town looks good to me, + I'd rather loaf down by the sea, + And watch the foaming billows. + + Some people think the world's a school, + Where labor is the only rule; + But I'll not make myself a mule, + And don't you ever doubt it. + I know that work may have its use, + But still I feel that's no excuse + For turning it into abuse; + What do _you_ think about it? + + Let others fume and sweat and boil, + And scratch and dig for golden spoil, + And live the life of work and toil, + Their lives to labor giving. + But what is gold when life is sped, + And life is short, as has been said, + And we are such a long time dead, + I'll spend my life in living. + + + + +OMAR + + + Old Omar, jolly sceptic, it may be + That, after all, you found the magic key + To life and all its mystery, and I + Must own you have almost persuaded me. + + + + +DEEP IN THE QUIET WOOD + + + Are you bowed down in heart? + Do you but hear the clashing discords and the din of life? + Then come away, come to the peaceful wood, + Here bathe your soul in silence. Listen! Now, + From out the palpitating solitude + Do you not catch, yet faint, elusive strains? + They are above, around, within you, everywhere. + Silently listen! Clear, and still more clear, they come. + They bubble up in rippling notes, and swell in singing tones. + Now let your soul run the whole gamut of the wondrous scale + Until, responsive to the tonic chord, + It touches the diapason of God's grand cathedral organ, + Filling earth for you with heavenly peace + And holy harmonies. + + + + +VOLUPTAS + + + To chase a never-reached mirage + Across the hot, white sand, + And choke and die, while gazing on + Its green and watered strand. + + + + +THE WORD OF AN ENGINEER + + + "She's built of steel + From deck to keel, + And bolted strong and tight; + In scorn she'll sail + The fiercest gale, + And pierce the darkest night. + + "The builder's art + Has proved each part + Throughout her breadth and length; + Deep in the hulk, + Of her mighty bulk, + Ten thousand Titans' strength." + + The tempest howls, + The Ice Wolf prowls, + The winds they shift and veer, + But calm I sleep, + And faith I keep + In the word of an engineer. + + Along the trail + Of the slender rail + The train, like a nightmare, flies + And dashes on + Through the black-mouthed yawn + Where the cavernous tunnel lies. + + Over the ridge, + Across the bridge, + Swung twixt the sky and hell, + On an iron thread + Spun from the head + Of the man in a draughtsman's cell. + + And so we ride + Over land and tide, + Without a thought of fear-- + _Man never had + The faith in God + That he has in an engineer!_ + + + + +LIFE + + + Out of the infinite sea of eternity + To climb, and for an instant stand + Upon an island speck of time. + + From the impassible peace of the darkness + To wake, and blink at the garish light + Through one short hour of fretfulness. + + + + +SLEEP + + + O Sleep, thou kindest minister to man, + Silent distiller of the balm of rest, + How wonderful thy power, when naught else can, + To soothe the torn and sorrow-laden breast! + When bleeding hearts no comforter can find, + When burdened souls droop under weight of woe, + When thought is torture to the troubled mind, + When grief-relieving tears refuse to flow; + 'Tis then thou comest on soft-beating wings, + And sweet oblivion's peace from them is shed; + But ah, the old pain that the waking brings! + That lives again so soon as thou art fled! + + Man, why should thought of death cause thee to weep; + Since death be but an endless, dreamless sleep? + + + + +PRAYER AT SUNRISE + + + O mighty, powerful, dark-dispelling sun, + Now thou art risen, and thy day begun. + How shrink the shrouding mists before thy face, + As up thou spring'st to thy diurnal race! + How darkness chases darkness to the west, + As shades of light on light rise radiant from thy crest! + For thee, great source of strength, emblem of might, + In hours of darkest gloom there is no night. + Thou shinest on though clouds hide thee from sight, + And through each break thou sendest down thy light. + + O greater Maker of this Thy great sun, + Give me the strength this one day's race to run, + Fill me with light, fill me with sun-like strength, + Fill me with joy to rob the day its length. + Light from within, light that will outward shine, + Strength to make strong some weaker heart than mine, + Joy to make glad each soul that feels its touch; + Great Father of the sun, I ask this much. + + + + +THE GIFT TO SING + + + Sometimes the mist overhangs my path, + And blackening clouds about me cling; + But, oh, I have a magic way + To turn the gloom to cheerful day-- + I softly sing. + + And if the way grows darker still, + Shadowed by Sorrow's somber wing, + With glad defiance in my throat, + I pierce the darkness with a note, + And sing, and sing. + + I brood not over the broken past, + Nor dread whatever time may bring; + No nights are dark, no days are long, + While in my heart there swells a song, + And I can sing. + + + + +MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT + + + When morning shows her first faint flush, + I think of the tender blush + That crept so gently to your cheek + When first my love I dared to speak; + How, in your glance, a dawning ray + Gave promise of love's perfect day. + + When, in the ardent breath of noon, + The roses with passion swoon; + There steals upon me from the air + The scent that lurked within your hair; + I touch your hand, I clasp your form-- + Again your lips are close and warm. + + When comes the night with beauteous skies, + I think of your tear-dimmed eyes, + Their mute entreaty that I stay, + Although your lips sent me away; + And then falls memory's bitter blight, + And dark--so dark becomes the night. + + + + +HER EYES TWIN POOLS + + + Her eyes, twin pools of mystic light, + The blend of star-sheen and black night; + O'er which, to sound their glamouring haze, + A man might bend, and vainly gaze. + + Her eyes, twin pools so dark and deep, + In which life's ancient mysteries sleep; + Wherein, to seek the quested goal, + A man might plunge, and lose his soul. + + + + +THE AWAKENING + + + I dreamed that I was a rose + That grew beside a lonely way, + Close by a path none ever chose, + And there I lingered day by day. + Beneath the sunshine and the show'r + I grew and waited there apart, + Gathering perfume hour by hour, + And storing it within my heart, + Yet, never knew, + Just why I waited there and grew. + + I dreamed that you were a bee + That one day gaily flew along, + You came across the hedge to me, + And sang a soft, love-burdened song. + You brushed my petals with a kiss, + I woke to gladness with a start, + And yielded up to you in bliss + The treasured fragrance of my heart; + And then I knew + That I had waited there for you. + + + + +BEAUTY THAT IS NEVER OLD + + + When buffeted and beaten by life's storms, + When by the bitter cares of life oppressed, + I want no surer haven than your arms, + I want no sweeter heaven than your breast. + + When over my life's way there falls the blight + Of sunless days, and nights of starless skies; + Enough for me, the calm and steadfast light + That softly shines within your loving eyes. + + The world, for me, and all the world can hold + Is circled by your arms; for me there lies, + Within the lights and shadows of your eyes, + The only beauty that is never old. + + + + +VENUS IN A GARDEN + + + 'Twas at early morning, + The dawn was blushing in her purple bed, + When in a sweet, embowered garden + She, the fairest of the goddesses, + The lovely Venus, + Roamed amongst the roses white and red. + She sought for flowers + To make a garland + For her golden head. + + Snow-white roses, blood-red roses, + In that sweet garden close, + Offered incense to the goddess: + Both the white and the crimson rose. + + White roses, red roses, blossoming: + But the fair Venus knew + The crimson roses had gained their hue + From the hearts that for love had bled; + And the goddess made a garland + Gathered from the roses red. + + + + +VASHTI + + + I sometimes take you in my dreams to a far-off land I used to know, + Back in the ages long ago; a land of palms and languid streams. + + A land, by night, of jeweled skies, by day, of shores that glistened bright, + Within whose arms, outstretched and white, a sapphire sea lay crescent-wise. + + Where twilight fell like silver floss, where rose the golden moon half-hid + Behind a shadowy pyramid; a land beneath the Southern Cross. + + And there the days dreamed in their flight, each one a poem chanted through, + Which at its close was merged into the muted music of the night. + + And you were a princess in those days. And I--I was your serving lad. + But who ever served with heart so glad, or lived so for a word of praise? + + And if that word you chanced to speak, how all my senses swayed and reeled, + Till low beside your feet I kneeled, with happiness o'erwrought and weak. + + If, when your golden cup I bore, you deigned to lower your eyes to mine, + Eyes cold, yet fervid, like the wine, I knew not how to wish for more. + + I trembled at the thought to dare to gaze upon, to scrutinize + The deep-sea mystery of your eyes, the sun-lit splendor of your hair. + + To let my timid glances rest upon you long enough to note + How fair and slender was your throat, how white the promise of your breast. + + But though I did not dare to chance a lingering look, an open gaze + Upon your beauty's blinding rays, I ventured many a stolen glance. + + I fancy, too, (but could not state what trick of mind the fancy caused) + At times your eyes upon me paused, and marked my figure lithe and straight. + + Once when my eyes met yours it seemed that in your cheek, despite your pride, + A flush arose and swiftly died; or was it something that I dreamed? + + Within your radiance like the star of morning, there I stood and served, + Close by, unheeded, unobserved. You were so near, and, yet, so far. + + Ah! just to stretch my hand and touch the musky sandals on your feet!-- + My breaking heart! of rapture sweet it never could have held so much. + + Oh, beauty-haunted memory! Your face so proud, your eyes so calm, + Your body like a slim young palm, and sinuous as a willow tree. + + Caught up beneath your slender arms, and girdled 'round your supple waist, + A robe of curious silk that graced, but only scarce concealed your charms. + + A golden band about your head, a crimson jewel at your throat + Which, when the sunlight on it smote, turned to a living heart and bled. + + But, oh, that mystic bleeding stone, that work of Nature's magic art, + Which mimicked so a wounded heart, could never bleed as did my own! + + Now after ages long and sad, in this stern land we meet anew; + No more a princess proud are you, and I--I am no serving lad. + + And yet, dividing us, I meet a wider gulf than that which stood + Between a princess of the blood and him who served low at her feet. + + + + +THE REWARD + + + No greater earthly boon than this I crave, + That those who some day gather 'round my grave, + In place of tears, may whisper of me then, + "He sang a song that reached the hearts of men." + + + + +JINGLES & CROONS + + +SENCE YOU WENT AWAY + + + Seems lak to me de stars don't shine so bright, + Seems lak to me de sun done loss his light, + Seems lak to me der's nothin' goin' right, + Sence you went away. + + Seems lak to me de sky ain't half so blue, + Seems lak to me dat ev'ything wants you, + Seems lak to me I don't know what to do, + Sence you went away. + + Seems lak to me dat ev'ything is wrong, + Seems lak to me de day's jes twice as long, + Seems lak to me de bird's forgot his song, + Sence you went away. + + Seems lak to me I jes can't he'p but sigh, + Seems lak to me ma th'oat keeps gittin' dry, + Seems lak to me a tear stays in ma eye, + Sence you went away. + + + + +MA LADY'S LIPS AM LIKE DE HONEY + +(_Negro Love Song_) + + + Breeze a-sighin' and a-blowin', + Southern summer night. + Stars a-gleamin' and a-glowin', + Moon jes shinin' right. + Strollin', like all lovers do, + Down de lane wid Lindy Lou; + Honey on her lips to waste; + 'Speck I'm gwine to steal a taste. + + Oh, ma lady's lips am like de honey, + Ma lady's lips am like de rose; + An' I'm jes like de little bee a-buzzin' + 'Round de flower wha' de nectah grows. + Ma lady's lips dey smile so temptin', + Ma lady's teeth so white dey shine, + Oh, ma lady's lips so tantalizin', + Ma lady's lips so close to mine. + + Bird a-whistlin' and a-swayin' + In de live-oak tree; + Seems to me he keeps a-sayin', + "Kiss dat gal fo' me." + Look heah, Mister Mockin' Bird, + Gwine to take you at yo' word; + If I meets ma Waterloo, + Gwine to blame it all on you. + + Oh, ma lady's lips am like de honey, + Ma lady's lips am like de rose; + An' I'm jes like de little bee a-buzzin' + 'Round de flower wha' de nectah grows. + Ma lady's lips dey smile so temptin', + Ma lady's teeth so white dey shine, + Oh, ma lady's lips so tantalizin', + Ma lady's lips so close to mine. + + Honey in de rose, I spose, is + Put der fo' de bee; + Honey on her lips, I knows, is + Put der jes fo' me. + Seen a sparkle in her eye, + Heard her heave a little sigh; + Felt her kinder squeeze ma han', + 'Nuff to make me understan'. + + + + +TUNK + +(_A Lecture on Modern Education_) + + + Look heah, Tunk!--Now, ain't dis awful! T'ought I sont you off to school. + Don't you know dat you is growin' up to be a reg'lah fool? + + Whah's dem books dat I's done bought you? Look heah, boy, you tell me quick, + Whah's dat Webster blue-back spellah an' dat bran' new 'rifmatic? + + W'ile I'm t'inkin' you is lahnin' in de school, why bless ma soul! + You off in de woods a-playin'. Can't you do like you is tole? + + Boy, I tell you, it's jes scan'lous d'way dat you is goin' on. + An' you sholy go'n be sorry, jes as true as you is bo'n. + + Heah I'm tryin' hard to raise you as a credit to dis race, + An' you tryin' heap much harder fu' to come up in disgrace. + + Dese de days w'en men don't git up to de top by hooks an' crooks; + Tell you now, dey's got to git der standin' on a pile o' books. + + W'en you sees a darkey goin' to de fiel' as soon as light, + Followin' a mule across it f'om de mawnin' tel de night, + + Wukin' all his life fu' vittles, hoein' 'tween de cott'n rows, + W'en he knocks off ole an' tiah'd, ownin' nut'n but his clo'es, + + You kin put it down to ignunce, aftah all what's done an' said, + You kin bet dat dat same darkey ain't got nut'n in his head. + + Ain't you seed dem w'ite men set'n in der awfice? Don't you know + Dey goes der 'bout nine each mawnin? Bless yo' soul, dey's out by fo'. + + Dey jes does a little writin'; does dat by some easy means; + Gals jes set an' play piannah on dem printin' press muchines. + + Chile, dem men knows how to figgah, how to use dat little pen, + An' dey knows dat blue-back spellah f'om beginnin' to de en'. + + Dat's de 'fect of education; dat's de t'ing what's gwine to rule; + Git dem books, you lazy rascal! Git back to yo' place in school! + + + + +NOBODY'S LOOKIN' BUT DE OWL AND DE MOON + +(_A Negro Serenade_) + + + De river is a-glistenin' in de moonlight, + De owl is set'n high up in de tree; + De little stars am twinklin' wid a sof' light, + De night seems only jes fu' you an' me. + Thoo de trees de breezes am a-sighin', + Breathin' out a sort o' lover's croon, + Der's nobody lookin' or a-spyin', + Nobody but de owl an' de moon. + + Nobody's lookin' but de owl an' de moon, + An' de night is balmy; fu' de month is June; + Come den, Honey, won't you? Come to meet me soon, + Wile nobody's lookin' but de owl an' de moon. + + I feel so kinder lonely all de daytime, + It seems I raly don't know what to do; + I jes keep sort a-longin' fu' de night-time, + 'Cause den I know dat I can be wid you. + An' de thought jes sets my brain a-swayin', + An' my heart a-beatin' to a tune; + Come, de owl won't tell w'at we's a-sayin', + An' cose you know we kin trus' de moon. + + + + +YOU'S SWEET TO YO' MAMMY JES DE SAME + +(_Lullaby_) + + + Shet yo' eyes, ma little pickaninny, go to sleep + Mammy's watchin' by you all de w'ile; + Daddy is a-wukin' down in de cott'n fiel', + Wukin' fu' his little honey child. + An' yo' mammy's heart is jes a-brimmin' full o' lub + Fu' you f'om yo' head down to yo' feet; + Oh, no mattah w'at some othah folks may t'ink o' you, + To yo' mammy's heart you's mighty sweet. + + You's sweet to yo' mammy jes de same; + Dat's why she calls you Honey fu' yo' name. + Yo' face is black, dat's true, + An' yo' hair is woolly, too, + But, you's sweet to yo' mammy jes de same. + + Up der in de big house w'ere dey lib so rich an' gran' + Dey's got chillen dat dey lubs, I s'pose; + Chillen dat is purty, oh, but dey can't lub dem mo' + Dan yo' mammy lubs you, heaben knows! + + Dey may t'ink you's homely, an' yo' clo'es dey may be po', + But yo' shinin' eyes, dey hol's a light + Dat, my Honey, w'en you opens dem so big an' roun', + Makes you lubly in yo' mammy's sight. + + + + +A PLANTATION BACCHANAL + + + W'en ole Mister Sun gits tiah'd a-hangin' + High up in de sky; + W'en der ain't no thunder and light'nin' a-bangin', + An' de crap's done all laid by; + W'en yo' bones ain't achin' wid de rheumatics, + Den yo' ride de mule to town, + Git a great big jug o' de ole corn juice, + An' w'en you drink her down-- + + Jes lay away ole Trouble, + An' dry up all yo' tears; + Yo' pleasure sho' to double + An' you bound to lose yo' keers. + Jes lay away ole Sorrer + High upon de shelf; + And never mind to-morrer, + 'Twill take care of itself. + + W'en ole Mister Age begins a-stealin' + Thoo yo' back an' knees, + W'en yo' bones an' jints lose der limber feelin', + An' am stiff'nin' by degrees; + Now der's jes one way to feel young and spry, + W'en you heah dem banjos soun' + Git a great big swig o' de ole corn juice, + An' w'en you drink her down-- + + Jes lay away ole Trouble, + An' dry up all yo' tears; + Yo' pleasure sho' to double + An' you bound to lose yo' keers. + Jes lay away ole Sorrer + High upon de shelf; + And never mind to-morrer, + 'Twill take care of itself. + + + + +JULY IN GEORGY + + + I'm back down in ole Georgy w'ere de sun is shinin' hot, + W'ere de cawn it is a-tasslin', gittin' ready fu' de pot; + + W'ere de cott'n is a-openin' an' a-w'itenin' in de sun, + An' de ripenin' o' de sugah-cane is mighty nigh begun. + + An' de locus' is a-singin' f'om eveh bush an' tree, + An' you kin heah de hummin' o' de noisy bumblebee; + + An' de mule he stan's a-dreamin' an' a-dreamin' in de lot, + An' de sun it is a-shinin' mighty hot, hot, hot. + + But evehbody is a-restin', fu' de craps is all laid by, + An' time fu' de camp-meetin' is a-drawin' purty nigh; + + An' we's put away de ploughshare, an' we's done hung up de spade, + An' we's eatin' watermelon, an' a-layin' in de shade. + + + + +A BANJO SONG + + + W'en de banjos wuz a-ringin', + An' de darkies wuz a-singin', + Oh, wuzen dem de good times sho! + All de ole folks would be chattin', + An' de pickaninnies pattin', + As dey heah'd de feet a-shufflin' 'cross de flo'. + + An' how we'd dance, an' how we'd sing! + Dance tel de day done break. + An' how dem banjos dey would ring, + An' de cabin flo' would shake! + + Come along, come along, + Come along, come along, + Don't you heah dem banjos a-ringin'? + + Gib a song, gib a song, + Gib a song, gib a song, + Git yo' feet fixed up fu' a-wingin'. + + W'ile de banjos dey go plunka, plunka, plunk, + We'll dance tel de ole flo' shake; + W'ile de feet keep a-goin' chooka, chooka, chook, + We'll dance tel de day done break. + + + + +ANSWER TO PRAYER + + + Der ain't no use in sayin' de Lawd won't answer prah; + If you knows how to ax Him, I knows He's bound to heah. + + De trouble is, some people don't ax de proper way, + Den w'en dey git's no answer dey doubts de use to pray. + + You got to use egzac'ly de 'spressions an' de words + To show dat 'tween yo' faith an' works, you 'pends on works two-thirds. + + Now, one time I remember--jes how long I won't say-- + I thought I'd like a turkey to eat on Chris'mus day. + + Fu' weeks I dreamed 'bout turkeys, a-struttin' in der pride; + But seed no way to get one--widout de Lawd pervide. + + An' so I went to prayin', I pray'd wid all my might; + "Lawd, sen' _to_ me a turkey." I pray'd bofe day an' night. + + "Lawd, sen' _to_ me a turkey, a big one if you please." + I 'clar to heaben I pray'd so much I mos' wore out ma knees. + + I pray'd dat prah so often, I pray'd dat prah so long, + Yet didn't git no turkey, I know'd 'twas sump'n wrong. + + So on de night 'fore Chris'mus w'en I got down to pray, + "Lawd, sen' _me_ to a turkey," I had de sense to say. + + "Lawd, sen' _me_ to a turkey." I know dat prah was right, + An' it was sholy answer'd; I got de bird dat night. + + + + +DAT GAL O' MINE + + + Skin as black an' jes as sof' as a velvet dress, + Teeth as white as ivory--well dey is I guess. + + Eyes dat's jes as big an' bright as de evenin' star; + An' dat hol' some sort o' light lublier by far. + + Hair don't hang 'way down her back; plaited up in rows; + Wid de two en's dat's behin' tied wid ribben bows. + + Han's dat raly wuz'n made fu' hard work, I'm sho'; + Got a little bit o' foot; weahs a numbah fo'. + + You jes oughtah see dat gal Sunday's w'en she goes + To de Baptis' meetin' house, dressed in her bes' clo'es. + + W'en she puts her w'ite dress on an' othah things so fine; + Now, Su', don't you know I'm proud o' dat gal o' mine. + + + + +THE SEASONS + + + W'en de leaves begin to fall, + An' de fros' is on de ground, + An' de 'simmons is a-ripenin' on de tree; + W'en I heah de dinner call, + An' de chillen gadder 'round, + 'Tis den de 'possum is de meat fu' me. + + W'en de wintertime am pas' + An' de spring is come at las', + W'en de good ole summer sun begins to shine; + Oh! my thoughts den tek a turn, + An' my heart begins to yearn + Fo' dat watermelon growin' on de vine. + + Now, de yeah will sholy bring + 'Round a season fu' us all, + Ev'y one kin pick his season f'om de res'; + But de melon in de spring, + An' de 'possum in de fall, + Mek it hard to tell which time o' year am bes'. + + + + +'POSSUM SONG + +(_A Warning_) + + + 'Simmons ripenin' in de fall, + You better run, + Brudder 'Possum, run! + Mockin' bird commence to call, + You better run, Brudder 'Possum, git out de way! + You better run, Brudder 'Possum, git out de way! + Run some whar an' hide! + Ole moon am sinkin' + Down behin' de tree. + Ole Eph am thinkin' + An' chuckelin' wid glee. + Ole Tige am blinkin' + An' frisky as kin be, + Yo' chances, Brudder 'Possum, + Look mighty slim to me. + + Run, run, run, I tell you, + Run, Brudder 'Possum, run! + Run, run, run, I tell you, + Ole Eph's got a gun. + Pickaninnies grinnin' + Waitin' fu' to see de fun. + You better run, Brudder 'Possum, git out de way! + Run, Brudder 'Possum, run! + + Brudder 'Possum take a tip; + You better run, + Brudder 'Possum, run! + 'Tain't no use in actin' flip, + You better run, Brudder 'Possum, git out de way! + You better run, Brudder 'Possum, git out de way! + Run some whar an' hide. + Dey's gwine to houn' you + All along de line, + W'en dey done foun' you, + Den what's de use in sighin'? + Wid taters roun' you. + You sholy would tase fine-- + So listen, Brudder 'Possum, + You better be a-flyin'. + + Run, run, run, I tell you, + Run, Brudder 'Possum, run! + Run, run, run, I tell you, + Ole Eph's got a gun. + Pickaninnies grinnin' + Waitin' fu' to see de fun. + You better run, Brudder 'Possum, git out de way! + Run, Brudder 'Possum, run! + + + + +BRER RABBIT, YOU'S DE CUTES' OF 'EM ALL + + + Once der was a meetin' in de wilderness, + All de critters of creation dey was dar; + Brer Rabbit, Brer 'Possum, Brer Wolf, Brer Fox, + King Lion, Mister Terrapin, Mister B'ar. + De question fu' discussion was, "Who is de bigges' man?" + Dey 'pinted ole Jedge Owl to decide; + He polished up his spectacles an' put 'em on his nose, + An' to the question slowly he replied: + + "Brer Wolf am mighty cunnin', + Brer Fox am mighty sly, + Brer Terrapin an' 'Possum--kinder small; + Brer Lion's mighty vicious, + Brer B'ar he's sorter 'spicious, + Brer Rabbit, you's de cutes' of 'em all." + + Dis caused a great confusion 'mongst de animals, + Ev'y critter claimed dat he had won de prize; + Dey 'sputed an' dey arg'ed, dey growled an' dey roared, + Den putty soon de dus' begin to rise. + + Brer Rabbit he jes' stood aside an' urged 'em on to fight. + Brer Lion he mos' tore Brer B'ar in two; + W'en dey was all so tiahd dat dey couldn't catch der bref + Brer Rabbit he jes' grabbed de prize an' flew. + + Brer Wolf am mighty cunnin', + Brer Fox am mighty sly, + Brer Terrapin an' Possum--kinder small; + Brer Lion's mighty vicious, + Brer B'ar he's sorter 'spicious, + Brer Rabbit, you's de cutes' of 'em all. + + + + +AN EXPLANATION + + + Look heah! 'Splain to me de reason + Why you said to Squire Lee, + Der wuz twelve ole chicken thieves + In dis heah town, includin' me. + Ef he tole you dat, my brudder, + He said sump'n dat warn't true; + W'at I said wuz dis, dat der wuz + Twelve, _widout_ includin' you. + + Oh!...!-- + + + + +DE LITTLE PICKANINNY'S GONE TO SLEEP + + + Cuddle down, ma honey, in yo' bed, + Go to sleep an' res' yo' little head, + Been a-kind o' ailin' all de day? + Didn't have no sperit fu' to play? + Never min'; to-morrer, w'en you wek, + Daddy's gwine to ride you on his bek, + 'Roun' an' roun' de cabin flo' so fas'-- + Der! He's closed his little eyes at las'. + + De little pickaninny's gone to sleep, + Cuddled in his trundle bed so tiny, + De little pickaninny's gone to sleep, + Closed his little eyes so bright an' shiny. + Hush! an' w'en you walk across de flo' + Step across it very sof' an' slow. + De shadders all aroun' begin to creep, + De little pickaninny's gone to sleep. + + Mandy, w'at's de matter wid dat chile? + Keeps a-sighin' ev'y little w'ile; + Seems to me I heayhd him sorter groan, + Lord! his little han's am col' as stone! + W'at's dat far-off light dat's in his eyes? + Dat's a light dey's borrow'd f'om de skies; + Fol' his little han's across his breas', + Let de little pickaninny res'. + + + + +THE RIVALS + + + Look heah! Is I evah tole you 'bout de curious way I won + Anna Liza? Say, I nevah? Well heah's how de thing wuz done. + + Lize, you know, wuz mighty purty--dat's been forty yeahs ago-- + 'N 'cos to look at her dis minit, you might'n spose dat it wuz so. + + She wuz jes de greates' 'traction in de county, 'n bless de lam'! + Eveh darkey wuz a-co'tin, but it lay 'twix me an' Sam. + + You know Sam. We both wuz wukin' on de ole John Tompkin's place. + 'N evehbody wuz a-watchin' t'see who's gwine to win de race. + + Hee! hee! hee! Now you mus' raley 'scuse me fu' dis snickering, + But I jes can't he'p f'om laffin' eveh time I tells dis thing. + + Ez I wuz a-sayin', me an' Sam wuked daily side by side, + He a-studyin', me a-studyin', how to win Lize fu' a bride. + + Well, de race was kinder equal, Lize wuz sorter on de fence; + Sam he had de mostes dollars, an' I had de mostes sense. + + Things dey run along 'bout eben tel der come Big Meetin' day; + Sam den thought, to win Miss Liza, he had foun' de shoest way. + + An' you talk about big meetin's! None been like it 'fore nor sence; + Der wuz sich a crowd o' people dat we had to put up tents. + + Der wuz preachers f'om de Eas', an' 'der wuz preachers f'om de Wes'; + Folks had kilt mos' eveh chicken, an' wuz fattenin' up de res'. + + Gals had all got new w'ite dresses, an' bought ribbens fu' der hair, + Fixin' fu' de openin' Sunday, prayin' dat de day'd be fair. + + Dat de Reveren' Jasper Jones of Mount Moriah, it wuz 'low'd, + Wuz to preach de openin' sermon; so you know der wuz a crowd. + + Fu' dat man wuz sho a preacher; had a voice jes like a bull; + So der ain't no use in sayin' dat de meetin' house wuz full. + + Folks wuz der f'om Big Pine Hollow, some come 'way f'om Muddy Creek, + Some come jes to stay fu' Sunday, but de crowd stay'd thoo de week. + + Some come ridin' in top-buggies wid de w'eels all painted red, + Pulled by mules dat run like rabbits, each one tryin' to git ahead. + + Othah po'rer folks come drivin' mules dat leaned up 'ginst de shaf', + Hitched to broke-down, creaky wagons dat looked like dey'd drap in half. + + But de bigges' crowd come walkin', wid der new shoes on der backs; + 'Scuse wuz dat dey couldn't weah em 'cause de heels wuz full o' tacks. + + Fact is, it's a job for Job, a-trudgin' in de sun an' heat, + Down a long an' dusty clay road wid yo' shoes packed full o' feet. + + 'Cose dey stopt an' put dem shoes on w'en dey got mos' to de do'; + Den dey had to grin an' bear it; dat tuk good religion sho. + + But I mos' forgot ma story,--well at las' dat Sunday came + And it seemed dat evehbody, blin' an' deef, an' halt an' lame, + + Wuz out in de grove a-waitin' fu' de meetin' to begin; + Ef dat crowd had got converted 'twould a been de end o' sin. + + Lize wuz der in all her glory, purty ez a big sunflowah, + I kin 'member how she looked jes same ez 'twuz dis ve'y houah. + + But to make ma story shorter, w'ile we wuz a-waitin' der, + Down de road we spied a cloud o' dus' dat filled up all de air. + + An' ez we kep' on a-lookin', out f'om 'mongst dat ve'y cloud, + Sam, on Marse John's big mule, Caesar, rode right slam up in de crowd. + + You jes oughtah seed dat darkey, 'clar I like tah loss ma bref; + Fu' to use a common 'spression, he wuz 'bout nigh dressed to def. + + He had slipped to town dat Sat'day, didn't let nobody know, + An' had car'yd all his cash an' lef it in de dry goods sto'. + + He had on a bran' new suit o' sto'-bought clo'es, a high plug hat; + He looked 'zactly like a gen'man, tain't no use d'nyin' dat. + + W'en he got down off dat mule an' bowed to Liza I could see + How she looked at him so 'dmirin', an' jes kinder glanced at me. + + Den I know'd to win dat gal, I sho would need some othah means + 'Sides a-hangin' 'round big meetin' in a suit o' homespun jeans. + + W'en dey blow'd de ho'n fu' preachin', an' de crowd all went inside, + I jes felt ez doh I'd like tah go off in de woods an' hide. + + So I stay'd outside de meetin', set'n underneat' de trees, + Seemed to me I sot der ages, wid ma elbows on ma knees. + + W'en dey sung dat hymn, "Nobody knows de trouble dat I see," + Seem'd to me dat dey wuz singin' eveh word o' it fu' me. + + Jes how long I might ha' sot der, actin' like a cussed fool, + I don't know, but it jes happen'd dat I look'd an' saw Sam's mule. + + An' de thought come slowly tricklin' thoo ma brain right der an' den, + Dat, perhaps, wid some persuasion, I could make dat mule ma fren'. + + An' I jes kep' on a-thinkin', an' I kep' a-lookin' 'roun', + Tel I spied two great big san' spurs right close by me on de groun'. + + Well, I took dem spurs an' put em underneat' o' Caesar's saddle, + So dey'd press down in his backbone soon ez Sam had got a-straddle. + + 'Twuz a pretty ticklish job, an' jes ez soon ez it wuz done, + I went back w'ere I wuz set'n fu' to wait an' see de fun. + + Purty soon heah come de people, jes a-swa'min' out de do', + Talkin' 'bout de "pow'ful sermon"--"nevah heah'd de likes befo'." + + How de "monahs fell convicted" jes de same ez lumps o' lead, + How dat some wuz still a-layin' same es if dey'd been struck dead. + + An' to rectly heah come Liza, Sam a-strollin' by her side, + An' it seem'd to me dat darky's smile wuz 'bout twelve inches wide. + + Look to me like he had swelled up to 'bout twice his natchul size, + An' I heah'd him say, "I'd like to be yo' 'scort to-night, Miss Lize." + + Den he made a bow jes like he's gwine to make a speech in school, + An' walk'd jes ez proud ez Marse John over to untie his mule, + + W'en Sam's foot fust touched de stirrup he know'd der wuz sump'n wrong; + 'Cuz de mule begin to tremble an' to sorter side along. + + Wen Sam raised his weight to mount him, Caesar bristled up his ear, + W'en Sam sot down in de saddle, den dat mule cummenced to rear. + + An' he reared an' pitched an' caper'd, only ez a mule kin pitch, + Tel he flung Sam clean f'om off him, landed him squar' in a ditch. + + Wen dat darky riz, well raly, I felt kinder bad fu' him; + He had bust dem cheap sto' britches f'om de center to de rim. + + All de plug hat dat wuz lef' him wuz de brim aroun' his neck, + Smear'd wid mud f'om top to bottom, well, he wuz a sight, I 'speck. + + Wuz de folks a-laffin'? Well, su', I jes sholy thought dey'd bus'; + Wuz Sam laffin'? 'Twuz de fus' time dat I evah heah'd him cuss. + + W'ile Sam slink'd off thoo de backwoods I walk'd slowly home wid Lize, + W'en I axed her jes one question der wuz sump'n in her eyes + + Made me know der wuz no need o' any answer bein' said, + An' I felt jes like de whole world wuz a-spinnin' 'roun' ma head. + + So I said, "Lize, w'en we marry, mus' I weah some sto'-bought clo'es?" + She says, "Jeans is good enough fu' any po' folks, heaben knows!" + + + + + _If homely virtues draw from me a tune + In happy jingle or a half-sad croon; + Or if the smoldering future should inspire + My hand to strike the seer's prophetic lyre; + Or if injustice, brutishness and wrong + Should make a blasting trumpet of my song; + O God, give beauty and strength--truth to my words, + Oh, may they fall like sweetly cadenced chords, + Or burn like beacon fires from out the dark, + Or speed like arrows, swift and sure, to the mark._ + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Fifty years & Other Poems, by James Weldon Johnson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIFTY YEARS & OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 17884.txt or 17884.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/8/8/17884/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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