Название: The Complete Poems Of Paul Laurence Dunbar
Автор: Paul Laurence Dunbar
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 9781473370302
isbn:
What time the sun divorced the day;
And all the shadows, glooming gray,
Proclaimed the sadness of the hour.
She could not speak—no word was needed;
Her look, half strength and half despair,
Told me I had not vainly pleaded,
That she would not ignore my prayer.
And so she turned and left me there,
And as she went, so passed my bliss;
–
She loved me, I could not mistake—
But for her own and my love’s sake,
Her womanhood could rise to this!
My wounded heart fled swift to cover,
And life at times seemed very drear.
My brother proved an ardent lover—
What had so young a man to fear?
He wed Ione within the year.
No shadow clouds her tranquil brow,
Men speak her husband’s name with pride,
While she sits honored at his side—
She is—she must be happy now!
I doubt the course I took no longer,
Since those I love seem satisfied.
The bond between them will grow stronger
As they go forward side by side;
Then will my pains be jusfied.
Their joy is mine, and that is best—
I am not totally bereft;
For I have still the mem’ry left—
Love stopped with me—a Royal Guest!
RELIGION
I am no priest of crooks nor creeds,
For human wants and human needs
Are more to me than prophets’ deeds;
And human tears and human cares
Affect me more than human prayers.
Go, cease your wail, lugubrious saint!
You fret high Heaven with your plaint.
Is this the “Christian’s joy” you paint?
Is this the Christian’s boasted bliss?
Avails your faith no more than this?
Take up your arms, come out with me,
Let Heav’n alone; humanity
Needs more and Heaven less from thee.
With pity for mankind look ‘round;
Help them to rise—and Heaven is found.
DEACON JONES’ GRIEVANCE
I ‘ve been watchin’ of ‘em, parson,
An’ I ‘m sorry fur to say
‘At my mind is not contented
With the loose an’ keerless way
‘At the young folks treat the music;
‘T ain’t the proper sort o’ choir.
Then I don’t believe in Christuns
A-singin’ hymns for hire.
But I never would ‘a’ murmured
An’ the matter might ‘a’ gone
Ef it was n’t fur the antics
‘At I’ve seen ‘em kerry on;
So I thought it was my dooty
Fur to come to you an’ ask
Ef you would n’t sort o’ gently
Take them singin’ folks to task.
Fust, the music they ‘ve be’n singin’
Will disgrace us mighty soon;
It ‘s a cross between a opry
An’ a ol’ cotillion tune.
With its dashes an’ its quavers
An’ its hifalutin style—
Why, it sets my head to swimmin’
When I ‘m comin’ down the aisle.
Now it might be almost decent
Ef it was n’t fur the way
‘At they git up there an’ sing it,
Hey dum diddle, loud and gay.
Why, it shames the name o’ sacred
In its brazen wordliness,
An’ they ‘ve even got “Ol’ Hundred”
In a bold, new-fangled dress.
You ‘ll excuse me, Mr. Parson,
Ef I seem a little sore;
But I ‘ve sung the songs of Isr’el
For threescore years an’ more,
An’ it sort o’ hurts my feelin’s
Fur to see ‘em put away
Fur these harum-scarum ditties
‘At is capturin’ the day.
There ‘s anuther little happ’nin’
‘At I ‘ll mention while I ‘m here,
Jes’ to show ‘at my objections
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