TUSKEGEE, ALA., APRIL 22, 1901.
Not to the midnight of the gloomy past,
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This poem must be done to-day;
Then, I 'll e'en to it.
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O li'l' lamb out in de col',
De Mastah call you to de fol',
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Whut dat you whisperin' keepin' f'om me?
Don't shut me out 'cause I 's ol' an' can't see.
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Seems lak folks is mighty curus
In de way dey t'inks an' ac's.
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Tek a cool night, good an' cleah,
Skiff o' snow upon de groun';
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I has hyeahd o' people dancin' an' I 's hyeahd o' people singin'.
An' I 's been 'roun' lots of othahs dat could keep de banjo
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De da'kest hour, dey allus say,
Is des' befo' de dawn,
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Dey 's a so't o' threatenin' feelin' in de blowin' of de breeze,
An' I 's feelin' kin' o' squeamish in de night;
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When to sweet music my lady is dancing
My heart to mild frenzy her beauty inspires.
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Ah me, it is cold and chill
And the fire sobs low in the grate,
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De ol' time's gone, de new time's hyeah
Wid all hits fuss an' feddahs;
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Whose little lady is you, chile,
Whose little gal is you?
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Oh, awful Power whose works repel
The marvel of the earth's designs,--
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Dey been speakin' at de cou't-house,
An' laws-a-massy me,
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Oh, de weathah it is balmy an' de breeze is sighin' low.
Li'l' gal,
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Hyeah dat singin' in de medders
Whaih de folks is mekin' hay?
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It is as if a silver chord
Were suddenly grown mute,
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This is to-day, a golden summer's day
And yet--and yet
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Shadder in de valley
Sunlight on de hill,
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Thou arrant robber, Death!
Couldst thou not find
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(From a Westerner's Point of View.)
No matter what you call it,
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When first of wise old Johnson taught,
My youthful mind its homage brought,
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In the east the morning comes,
Hear the rollin' of the drums
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Pray, what can dreams avail
To make love or to mar?
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The poor man went to the rich man's doors,
"I come as Lazarus came," he said.
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She told her beads with down-cast eyes,
Within the ancient chapel dim;
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In the heavy earth the miner
Toiled and laboured day by day,
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Thy tones are silver melted into sound,
And as I dream
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Out of my heart, one day, I wrote a song,
With my heart's blood imbued,
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