The Complete Poems Of Paul Laurence Dunbar. Paul Laurence Dunbar. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Paul Laurence Dunbar
Издательство: Ingram
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Жанр произведения: Языкознание
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9781473370302
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the organ give a groan,

      An’ they left one weak-voiced feller

      A-singin’ there alone!

      But he stuck right to the music,

      –

      Tho’ ‘t was tryin’ as could be;

      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.

      ALICE

      Know 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.

      AFTER THE QUARREL

      So we, who ‘ve supped the self-same 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;

      But since it must, why, let it end;

      The false but dies, ‘t is not the true.

      So we are favored, you and I,

      Who only want the living truth.

      It was not good to nurse the lie;

      ‘T is well it died in harmless youth.

      I go from you to-night to sleep.

      Why, what’s the odds? why should I grieve?

      I have no fund of tears to weep

      For happenings that undeceive.

      The days shall come, the days shall go

      Just as they came and went before.

      The sun shall shine, the streams shall flow

      Though you and I are friends no more.

      And in the volume of my years,

      Where all my thoughts and acts shall be,

      The page whereon your name appears

      Shall be forever sealed to me.

      Not that I hate you over-much,

      ‘T is less of hate than love defied;

      Howe’er, our hands no more shall touch,

      We ‘ll go our ways, the world is wide.

      BEYOND THE YEARS

      I

      Beyond the years the answer lies,

      Beyond where brood the grieving skies

      And Night drops tears.

      Where Faith rod-chastened smiles to rise

      And doff its fears,

      And carping Sorrow pines and dies—

      Beyond the years.

      Beyond the years the prayer for rest

      Shall beat no more within the breast;

      The darkness clears,

      And Morn perched on the mountain’s crest

      Her form uprears—

      The day that is to come is best,

      Beyond the years.

      Beyond the years the soul shall find

      That endless peace for which it pined,

      For light appears,

      And to the eyes that still were blind

      With blood and tears,

      Their sight shall come all unconfined

      Beyond the years.

      AFTER A VISIT

      I be’n down in ole Kentucky

      Fur a week er two, an’ say,

      ‘T wuz ez hard ez breakin’ oxen

      Fur to tear myse’f away.

      Allus argerin’ ‘bout fren’ship

      An’ yer hospitality—

      Y’ ain’t no right to talk about it

      Tell you be’n down there to see.

      See jest how they give you welcome

      To the best that’s in the land,

      Feel the sort o’ grip they give you

      When they take you by the hand.

      Hear ‘em say, “We ‘re glad to have you,

      Better stay a week er two;”

      An’ the way they treat you makes you

      Feel that ev’ry word is true.

      Feed you tell you hear the buttons

      Crackin’ on yore Sunday vest;

      Haul you roun’ to see the wonders

      Tell you have to cry for rest.

      Drink