Poem of the Day

I’m still listening to Home to Holly Springs by Jan Karon. Dunbar was mentioned and an excerpt of one of his poems quoted. As I don’t have the book (just the audiobook), I’m not positive, but I think it was this poem.

The Seedling
By Paul Laurence Dunbar

As a quiet little seedling
     Lay within its darksome bed,
To itself it fell a-talking,
     And this is what it said:

“I am not so very robust,
     But I’ll do the best I can;”
And the seedling from that moment
     Its work of life began.

So it pushed a little leaflet
     Up into the light of day,
To examine the surroundings
     And show the rest the way.

The leaflet liked the prospect,
     So it called its brother, Stem;
Then two other leaflets heard it,
     And quickly followed them.

To be sure, the haste and hurry
     Made the seedling sweat and pant;
But almost before it knew it
     It found itself a plant.

The sunshine poured upon it,
     And the clouds they gave a shower;
And the little plant kept growing
     Till it found itself a flower.

Little folks, be like the seedling,
     Always do the best you can;
Every child must share life’s labor
     Just as well as every man.

And the sun and showers will help you
     Through the lonesome, struggling hours,
Till you raise to light and beauty
     Virtue’s fair, unfading flowers.

I heard about a great site called LibriVox, which has public domain audiobooks and poems. This one was added recently and I like it, so here you go. You should definitely listen to it!

Sympathy
By Paul Laurence Dunbar

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings!

Here’s another one I just stumbled across…

Ships that Pass in the Night
By Paul Laurence Dunbar

Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing;
I look far out into the pregnant night,
Where I can hear the solemn booming gun
And catch the gleaming of a random light,
That tells me that the ship I seek
is passing, passing.
My tearful eyes my soul’s deep hurt are glassing;
For I would hail and check that ship of ships.
I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud,
My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips,
And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing.
O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpassing,
O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark!
Is there no hope for me? Is there no way
That I may sight and check that speeding bark
Which out of sight and sound is passing, passing?