Selected Poems Read Online

For this I say
On a summer’s day,
What’s so fine as being a boy?
Ha, Ha!

The Sand-Man

I know a man
With face of tan,
But who is ever kind;
Whom girls and boys
Leaves games and toys
Each eventide to find.

When day grows dim,
They watch for him,
He comes to place his claim;
He wears the crown
Of Dreaming-town;
The sand-man is his name.

When sparkling eyes
Troop sleepywise
And busy lips grow dumb;
When little heads
Nod toward the beds,
We know the sand-man’s come.

Johnny Speaks

The sand-man he’s a jolly old fellow,
His face is kind and his voice is mellow,
But he makes your eyelids as heavy as lead,
And then you got to go off to bed;
I don’t think I like the sand-man.

But I’ve been playing this live-long day;
It does make a fellow so tired to play!
Oh, my, I’m a-yawning right here before ma,
I’m the sleepiest fellow that ever you saw.
I think I do like the sand-man.

Scamp

Ain’t it nice to have a mammy
W’en you kin’ o’ tiahed out
Wid a-playin’ in de meddah,
An’ a-runnin’ roun’ about
Till hit’s made you mighty hongry,
An’ yo’ nose hit gits to know
What de smell means dat’s a-comin’
F’om de open cabin do’?
She wash yo’ face,
An’ mek yo’ place,
You’s hongry as a tramp;
Den hit’s eat you suppah right away,
You sta’vin’ little scamp.

W’en you’s full o’ braid an’ bacon,
An’ dey ain’t no mo’ to eat,
An’ de lasses dat’s a-stickin’
On yo’ face ta’se kin’ o’ sweet,
Don’ you t’ink hit’s kin’ o’ pleasin’
Fu’ to have som’body neah
Dat’ll wipe yo’ han’s an’ kiss you
Fo’ dey lif’ you f’om you’ cheah?
To smile so sweet,
An’ wash yo’ feet,
An’ leave ’em co’l an’ damp;
Den hit’s come let me undress you, now
You lazy little scamp.
Don’ yo’ eyes git awful heavy,
An’ yo’ lip git awful slack,
Ain’t dey som’p’n’ kin’ o’ weaknin’
In de backbone of yo’ back?
Don’ yo’ knees feel kin’ o’ trimbly,
An’ yo’ head go bobbin’ roun’,
W’en you says yo’ “Now I lay me,”
An’ is sno’in on de “down”?
She kiss yo’ nose,
She kiss yo’ toes,
An’ den tu’n out de lamp,
Den hit’s creep into yo’ trunnel baid,
You sleepy little scamp.

A Christmas Folksong

De win’ is blowin’ wahmah,
An hit’s blowin’ f’om de bay;
Dey’s a so’t o’ mist a-risin’
All erlong de meddah way;
Dey ain’t a hint o’ frostin’
On de groun’ ner in de sky,
An’ dey ain’t no use in hopin’
Dat de snow’ll ’mence to fly.
It’s goin’ to be a green Christmas,
An’ sad de day fu’ me.
I wish dis was de las’ one
Dat evah I should see.

Dey’s dancin’ in de cabin,
Dey’s spahkin’ by de tree;
But dancin’ times an’ spahkin’
Are all done pas’ fur me.
Dey’s feastin’ in de big house,
Wid all de windahs wide—
Is dat de way fu’ people
To meet de Christmas-tide?
It’s goin’ to be a green Christmas,
No mattah what you say.
Dey’s us dat will remembah
An’ grieve de comin’ day.

Dey’s des a bref o’ dampness
A-clingin’ to my cheek;
De aih’s been dahk an’ heavy
An’ threatenin’ fu’ a week,
But not wid signs o’ wintah,
Dough wintah’d seem so deah—
De wintah’s out o’ season,
An’ Christmas eve is heah.
It’s goin’ to be a green Christmas,
An’ oh, how sad de day!
Go ax de hongry chu’chya’d,
An’ see what hit will say.

Dey’s Allen on de hillside,
An’ Marfy in de plain;
Fu’ Christmas was like springtime,
An’ come wid sun an’ rain.
Dey’s Ca’line, John, an’ Susie,
Wid only dis one lef’:
An’ now de curse is comin’
Wid murder in hits bref.
It’s goin’ to be a green Christmas—
Des hyeah my words an’ see:
Befo’ de summah beckons
Dey’s many’ll weep wid me.

The Farm Child’s Lullaby

Oh, the little bird is rocking in the cradle of the wind, And it’s bye, my little wee one, bye;

The harvest all is gathered and the pippins all are binned; Bye, my little wee one, bye;

The little rabbit’s hiding in the golden shock of corn,

The thrifty squirrel’s laughing bunny’s idleness to scorn;

You are smiling with the angels in your slumber, smile till morn;

So it’s bye, my little wee one, bye.

There’ll be plenty in the cellar, there’ll be plenty on the shelf; Bye, my little wee one, bye;

There’ll be goodly store of sweetings for a dainty little elf; Bye, my little wee one, bye.

The snow may be a-flying o’er the meadow and the hill,

The ice has checked the chatter of the little laughing rill,

But in your cosey cradle you are warm and happy still; So bye, my little wee one, bye.

Why, the Bob White thinks the snowflake is a brother to his song;

Bye, my little wee one, bye;

And the chimney sings the sweeter when the wind is blowing strong;

Bye, my little wee one, bye;

The granary’s overflowing, full is cellar, crib, and bin,

The wood has paid its tribute and the ax has ceased its din;

The winter may not harm you when you’re sheltered safe within;

So bye, my little wee one, bye.

Hope

De dog go howlin’ ’long de road,
De night come shiverin’ down;
My back is tiahed of its load,
I cain’t be fu’ f’om town.
No mattah ef de way is long,
My haht is swellin’ wid a song,
No mattah ’bout de frownin’ skies,
I’ll soon be home to see my Lize.
My shadder staggah on de way,
It’s monstous col’ to-night;
But I kin hyeah my honey say
“W’y bless me if de sight
O’ you ain’t good fu’ my so’ eyes.”
(Dat talk’s dis lak my lady Lize)
I’s so’y case de way was long
But Lawd you bring me love an’ song.

No mattah ef de way is long,
An’ ef I trimbles so’
I knows de fiah’s burnin’ strong,
Behime my Lizy’s do’.
An’ daih my res’ an’ joy shell be,
Whaih my ol’ wife’s awaitin’ me—
Why what I keer fu’s stingin’ blas’,
I see huh windah light at las’.

The Awakening

I did not know that life could be so sweet,

I did not know the hours could speed so fleet,

Till I knew you, and life was sweet again.

The days grew brief with love and lack of pain—

I was a slave a few short days ago,

The powers of Kings and Princes now I know;

I would not be again in bondage, save

I had your smile, the liberty I crave.

A Musical

Outside the rain upon the street,
The sky all grim of hue,
Inside, the music-painful sweet,
And yet I heard but you.
As is a thrilling violin,
So is your voice to me,
And still above the other strains,
It sang in ecstasy.

Twell de Night Is Pas’

All de night long twell de moon goes down, Lovin’ I set at huh feet,

Den fu’ de long jou’ney back f’om de town, Ha’d, but de dreams mek it sweet.

All de night long twell de break of de day, Dreamin’ agin in my sleep,

Mandy comes drivin’ my sorrers away, Axin’ me, “Wha’ fu’ you weep?”

All de day long twell de sun goes down, Smilin’, I ben’ to my hoe,

Fu’ dough de weddah git nasty an’ frown, One place I know I kin go.

All my life long twell de night has pas’ Let de wo’k come ez it will,

So dat I fin’ you, my honey, at las’, Somewhaih des ovah de hill.

Compensation

Because I had loved so deeply,
Because I had loved so long,
God in His great compassion
Gave me the gift of song.
Because I have loved so vainly,
And sung with such faltering breath,
The Master in infinite mercy
Offers the boon of Death.

Anchored

If thro’ the sea of night which here surrounds me, I could swim out beyond the farthest star,

Break every barrier of circumstance that bounds me, And greet the Sun of sweeter life afar,

Tho’ near you there is passion, grief, and sorrow, And out there rest and joy and peace and all,

I should renounce that beckoning for to-morrow, I could not choose to go beyond your call.

Yesterday and To-morrow

Yesterday I held your hand,
Reverently I pressed it,
And its gentle yieldingness
From my soul I blessed it.

But to-day I sit alone,
Sad and sore repining;
Must our gold forever know
Flames for the refining?

Yesterday I walked with you,
Could a day be sweeter?
Life was all a lyric song
Set to tricksy meter.
Ah, to-day is like a dirge,—
Place my arms around you,
Let me feel the same dear joy
As when first I found you.

Let me once retrace my steps,
From these roads unpleasant,
Let my heart and mind and soul
All ignore the present.

Yesterday the iron seared
And to-day means sorrow.
Pause, my soul, arise, arise,
Look where gleams the morrow.

At Sunset Time

Adown the west a golden glow
Sinks burning in the sea,
And all the dreams of long ago
Come flooding back to me.
The past has writ a story strange
Upon my aching heart,
But time has wrought a subtle change,
My wounds have ceased to smart.

No more the quick delight of youth,
No more the sudden pain,
I look no more for trust or truth
Where greed may compass gain.
What, was it I who bared my heart
Through unrelenting years,
And knew the sting of misery’s dart,
The tang of sorrow’s tears?
’Tis better now, I do not weep,
I do not laugh nor care;
My soul and spirit half asleep
Drift aimless everywhere.
We float upon a sluggish stream,
We ride no rapids mad,
While life is all a tempered dream
And every joy half sad.

At Loafing-Holt

Since I left the city’s heat
For this sylvan, cool retreat,
High upon the hill-side here
Where the air is clean and clear,
I have lost the urban ways.
Mine are calm and tranquil days,
Sloping lawns of green are mine,
Clustered treasures of the vine;
Long forgotten plants I know,
Where the best wild berries grow,
Where the greens and grasses sprout,
When the elders blossom out.
Now I am grown weather-wise
With the lore of winds and skies.
Mine the song whose soft refrain
Is the sigh of summer rain.
Seek you where the woods are cool,
Would you know the shady pool
Where, throughout the lazy day,
Speckled beauties drowse or play?
Would you find in rest or peace
Sorrow’s permanent release?—
Leave the city, grim and gray,
Come with me, ah, come away.
Do you fear the winter chill,
Deeps of snow upon the hill?
’Tis a mantle, kind and warm,
Shielding tender shoots from harm.
Do you dread the ice-clad streams,—
They are mirrors for your dreams.
Here’s a rouse, when summer’s past
To the raging winter’s blast.
Let him roar and let him rout,
We are armored for the bout.
How the logs are glowing, see!
Who sings louder, they or he?
Could the city be more gay?
Burn your bridges! Come away!

When a Feller’s Itchin’ to Be Spanked

W’en us fellers stomp around, makin’ lots o’ noise,

Gramma says, “There’s certain times come to little boys

W’en they need a shingle or the soft side of a plank;”

She says “we’re a-itchin’ for a right good spank.” An’ she says, “Now thes you wait,

It’s a-comin’—soon or late,

W’en a feller’s itchin’ fer a spank.”

W’en a feller’s out o’ school, you know how he feels,

Gramma says we wriggle ’roun’ like a lot o’ eels.

W’y it’s like a man that’s thes home from out o’ jail.

What’s the use o’ scoldin’ if we pull Tray’s tail? Gramma says, tho’, “Thes you wait, It’s a-comin’—soon or late,

You’se the boys that’s itchin’ to be spanked.”

Cats is funny creatures an’ I like to make ’em yowl,

Gramma alwus looks at me with a awful scowl

An’ she says, “Young gentlemen, mamma should be thanked

Ef you’d get your knickerbockers right well spanked.” An’ she says, “Now thes you wait, It’s a-comin’—soon or late,”

W’en a feller’s itchin’ to be spanked.

Ef you fin’ the days is gettin’ awful hot in school

An’ you know a swimmin’ place where it’s nice and cool,

Er you know a cat-fish hole brimmin’ full o’ fish,

Whose a-goin’ to set around school and wish? ’Tain’t no use to hide your bait, It’s a-comin,—soon or late,

W’en a feller’s itchin’ to be spanked.

Ol’ folks know most ever’thing ’bout the world, I guess,

Gramma does, we wish she knowed thes a little less,

But I alwus kind o’ think it ’ud be as well Ef they wouldn’t alwus have to up an’ tell; We kids wish ’at they’d thes wait, It’s a-comin’—soon or late,

W’en a feller’s itchin’ to be spanked.

A Love Letter

Oh, I des received a letter f’om de sweetest little gal; Oh, my; oh, my.

She’s my lovely little sweetheart an’ her name is Sal: Oh, my; oh, my.

She writes me dat she loves me an’ she loves me true,

She wonders ef I’ll tell huh dat I loves huh, too;

An’ my heaht’s so full o’ music dat I do’ know what to do; Oh, my; oh, my.

I got a man to read it an’ he read it fine; Oh, my; oh, my.

Dey ain’ no use denying dat her love is mine; Oh, my; oh, my.

But hyeah’s de t’ing dat’s puttin’ me in such a awful plight,

I t’ink of huh at mornin’ an’ I dream of huh at night;

But how’s I gwine to cou’t huh w’en I do’ know how to write? Oh, my; oh, my.

My heaht is bubblin’ ovah wid de t’ings I want to say; Oh, my; oh, my.

An’ dey’s lots of folks to copy what I tell ’em fu’ de pay; Oh, my; oh, my.

But dey’s t’ings dat I’s a-t’inkin’ dat is only fu’ huh ears,

An’ I couldn’t lu’n to write ’em ef I took a dozen years;

So to go down daih an’ tell huh is de only way, it ’pears; Oh, my; oh, my.

Trouble in de Kitchen

Dey was oncet a awful quoil ’twixt de skillet an’ de pot;

De pot was des a-bilin’ an’ de skillet sho’ was hot.

Dey slurred each othah’s colah an’ dey called each othah names,

W’ile de coal-oil can des gu-gled, po’in oil erpon de flames.

De pot, hit called de skillet des a flat, disfiggered t’ing,

An’ de skillet ’plied dat all de pot could do was set an’ sing,

An’ he ’lowed dat dey was ’lusions dat he wouldn’t stoop to mek

’Case he reckernize his juty, an’ he had too much at stake.

Well, at dis de pot biled ovah, case his tempah gittin’ highah,

An’ de skillet got to sputterin’, den de fat was in de fiah.

Mistah fiah lay daih smokin’ an’ a-t’inkin’ to hisse’f,

W’ile de peppah-box us nudgin’ of de gingah on de she’f.

Den dey all des lef’ hit to ’im, ’bout de trouble an’ de talk;

An’ howevah he decided, w’y dey bofe ’u’d walk de chalk;

But de fiah uz so ’sgusted how dey quoil an’ dey shout

Dat he cooled ’em off, I reckon, w’en he puffed an’ des went out.

The Quilting

Dolly sits a-quilting by her mother, stitch by stitch,
Gracious, how my pulses throb, how my fingers itch,
While I note her dainty waist and her slender hand,
As she matches this and that, she stitches strand by strand.
And I long to tell her Life’s a quilt and I’m a patch;
Love will do the stitching if she’ll only be my match.

Forever

I had not known before
Forever was so long a word.