The Complete Poems Of Paul Laurence Dunbar - Paul Laurence Dunbar

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by the fury of bullet and shell.

      Ah, but the day is past: silent the rattle,

      And the confusion that followed the fight.

      Peace to the heroes who died in the battle,

      Martyrs to truth and the crowning of Right!

      Out of the blood of a conflict fraternal,

      Out of the dust and the dimness of death,

      Burst into blossoms of glory eternal

      Flowers that sweeten the world with their breath.

      Flowers of charity, peace, and devotion

      Bloom in the hearts that are empty of strife;

      Love that is boundless and broad as the ocean

      Leaps into beauty and fulness of life.

      So, with the singing of paeans and chorals,

      And with the flag flashing high in the sun,

      Place on the graves of our heroes the laurels

      Which their unfaltering valor has won!

      PREMONITION

      Dear heart, good-night!

      Nay, list awhile that sweet voice singing

      When the world is all so bright,

      And the sound of song sets the heart a-ringing,

      Oh, love, it is not right—

      Not then to say, “Good-night.”

      Dear heart, good-night!

      The late winds in the lake weeds shiver,

      And the spray flies cold and white.

      And the voice that sings gives a telltale quiver—

      “Ah, yes, the world is bright,

      But, dearest heart, good-night!”

      Dear heart, good-night!

      And do not longer seek to hold me!

      For my soul is in affright

      As the fearful glooms in their pall enfold me.

      See him who sang how white

      –

      And still; so, dear, good-night.

      Dear heart, good-night!

      Thy hand I ‘ll press no more forever,

      And mine eyes shall lose the light;

      For the great white wraith by the winding river

      Shall check my steps with might.

      So, dear, good-night, good-night!

      RETROSPECTION

      When you and I were young, the days

      Were filled with scent of pink and rose,

      And full of joy from dawn till close,

      From morning’s mist till evening’s haze.

      And when the robin sung his song

      The verdant woodland ways along,

      We whistled louder than he sung.

      And school was joy, and work was sport

      For which the hours were all too short,

      When you and I were young, my boy,

      When you and I were young.

      When you and I were young, the woods

      Brimmed bravely o’er with every joy

      To charm the happy-hearted boy.

      The quail turned out her timid broods;

      The prickly copse, a hostess fine,

      Held high black cups of harmless wine;

      And low the laden grape-vine swung

      With beads of night-kissed amethyst

      Where buzzing lovers held their tryst,

      When you and I were young, my boy,

      When you and I were young.

      When you and I were young, the cool

      And fresh wind fanned our fevered brows

      When tumbling o’er the scented mows,

      Or stripping by the dimpling pool,

      Sedge-fringed about its shimmering face,

      Save where we ‘d worn an ent’ring place.

      –

      How with our shouts the calm banks rung!

      How flashed the spray as we plunged in,—

      Pure gems that never caused a sin!

      When you and I were young, my boy,

      When you and I were young.

      When you and I were young, we heard

      All sounds of Nature with delight,—

      The whirr of wing in sudden flight,

      The chirping of the baby-bird.

      The columbine’s red bells were rung;

      The locust’s vested chorus sung;

      While every wind his zithern strung

      To high and holy-sounding keys,

      And played sonatas in the trees—

      When you and I were young, my boy,

      When you and I were young.

      When you and I were young, we knew

      To shout and laugh, to work and play,

      And night was partner to the day

      In all our joys. So swift time flew

      On silent wings that, ere we wist,

      The fleeting years had fled unmissed;

      And from our hearts this cry was wrung—

      To fill with fond regret and tears

      The days of our remaining years—

      “When you and I were young, my boy,

      When you and I were young.”

      UNEXPRESSED

      Deep in my heart that aches with the repression,

      And strives with plenitude of bitter pain,

      There lives a thought that clamors for expression,

      And spends its undelivered force in vain.

      What boots it that some other may have thought it?

      The right of thoughts’ expression is divine;

      The price of pain I pay for it has bought it,

      I care not who lays claim to it—’t is mine!

      And yet not mine until it be delivered;

      The manner of its birth shall prove the test.

      Alas, alas, my rock of pride is shivered—

      –

      I beat my brow—the thought still unexpressed.

      SONG OF SUMMER

      Dis is gospel weathah sho’—

      Hills is sawt o’ hazy.

      Meddahs

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