Poetry, James Weldon Johnson [best romance books of all time .TXT] 📗

dry,
Seems lak to me a tear stays in ma eye,
Sence you went away. Ma Lady’s Lips Am Like de Honey

(Negro Love Song)

Breeze a-sighin’ and a-blowin’,
Southern summer night.
Stars a-gleamin’ and a-glowin’,
Moon jes shinin’ right.
Strollin’, like all lovers do,
Down de lane wid Lindy Lou;
Honey on her lips to waste;
’Speck I’m gwine to steal a taste.

Oh, ma lady’s lips am like de honey,
Ma lady’s lips am like de rose;
An’ I’m jes like de little bee a-buzzin’
’Round de flower wha’ de nectah grows.
Ma lady’s lips dey smile so temptin’,
Ma lady’s teeth so white dey shine,
Oh, ma lady’s lips so tantalizin’,
Ma lady’s lips so close to mine.

Bird a-whistlin’ and a-swayin’
In de live-oak tree;
Seems to me he keeps a-sayin’,
“Kiss dat gal fo’ me.”
Look heah, Mister Mockin’ Bird,
Gwine to take you at yo’ word;
If I meets ma Waterloo,
Gwine to blame it all on you.

Oh, ma lady’s lips am like de honey,
Ma lady’s lips am like de rose;
An’ I’m jes like de little bee a-buzzin’
’Round de flower wha’ de nectah grows.
Ma lady’s lips dey smile so temptin’,
Ma lady’s teeth so white dey shine,
Oh, ma lady’s lips so tantalizin’,
Ma lady’s lips so close to mine.

Honey in de rose, I spose, is
Put der fo’ de bee;
Honey on her lips, I knows, is
Put der jes fo’ me.
Seen a sparkle in her eye,
Heard her heave a little sigh;
Felt her kinder squeeze ma han’,
’Nuff to make me understan’.

Tunk

(A Lecture on Modern Education)

Look heah, Tunk!⁠—Now, ain’t dis awful! T’ought I sont you off to school.
Don’t you know dat you is growin’ up to be a reg’lah fool?

Whah’s dem books dat I’s done bought you? Look heah, boy, you tell me quick,
Whah’s dat Webster blue-back spellah an’ dat bran’ new ’rifmatic?

W’ile I’m t’inkin’ you is lahnin’ in de school, why bless ma soul!
You off in de woods a-playin’. Can’t you do like you is tole?

Boy, I tell you, it’s jes scan’lous d’way dat you is goin’ on.
An’ you sholy go’n be sorry, jes as true as you is bo’n.

Heah I’m tryin’ hard to raise you as a credit to dis race,
An’ you tryin’ heap much harder fu’ to come up in disgrace.

Dese de days w’en men don’t git up to de top by hooks an’ crooks;
Tell you now, dey’s got to git der standin’ on a pile o’ books.

W’en you sees a darkey goin’ to de fiel’ as soon as light,
Followin’ a mule across it f’om de mawnin’ tel de night,

Wukin’ all his life fu’ vittles, hoein’ ’tween de cott’n rows,
W’en he knocks off ole an’ tiah’d, ownin’ nut’n but his clo’es,

You kin put it down to ignunce, aftah all what’s done an’ said,
You kin bet dat dat same darkey ain’t got nut’n in his head.

Ain’t you seed dem w’ite men set’n in der awfice? Don’t you know
Dey goes der ’bout nine each mawnin? Bless yo’ soul, dey’s out by fo’.

Dey jes does a little writin’; does dat by some easy means;
Gals jes set an’ play piannah on dem printin’ press muchines.

Chile, dem men knows how to figgah, how to use dat little pen,
An’ dey knows dat blue-back spellah f’om beginnin’ to de en’.

Dat’s de ’fect of education; dat’s de t’ing what’s gwine to rule;
Git dem books, you lazy rascal! Git back to yo’ place in school!

Nobody’s Lookin’ but de Owl and de Moon

(A Negro Serenade)

De river is a-glistenin’ in de moonlight,
De owl is set’n high up in de tree;
De little stars am twinklin’ wid a sof’ light,
De night seems only jes fu’ you an’ me.
Thoo de trees de breezes am a-sighin’,
Breathin’ out a sort o’ lover’s croon,
Der’s nobody lookin’ or a-spyin’,
Nobody but de owl an’ de moon.

Nobody’s lookin’ but de owl an’ de moon,
An’ de night is balmy; fu’ de month is June;
Come den, Honey, won’t you? Come to meet me soon,
Wile nobody’s lookin’ but de owl an’ de moon.

I feel so kinder lonely all de daytime,
It seems I raly don’t know what to do;
I jes keep sort a-longin’ fu’ de night-time,
’Cause den I know dat I can be wid you.
An’ de thought jes sets my brain a-swayin’,
An’ my heart a-beatin’ to a tune;
Come, de owl won’t tell w’at we’s a-sayin’,
An’ cose you know we kin trus’ de moon.

You’s Sweet to Yo’ Mammy Jes de Same

(Lullaby)

Shet yo’ eyes, ma little pickaninny, go to sleep
Mammy’s watchin’ by you all de w’ile;
Daddy is a-wukin’ down in de cott’n fiel’,
Wukin’ fu’ his little honey child.
An’ yo’ mammy’s heart is jes a-brimmin’ full o’ lub
Fu’ you f’om yo’ head down to yo’ feet;
Oh, no mattah w’at some othah folks may t’ink o’ you,
To yo’ mammy’s heart you’s mighty sweet.

You’s sweet to yo’ mammy jes de same;
Dat’s why she calls you Honey fu’ yo’ name.
Yo’ face is black, dat’s true,
An’ yo’ hair is woolly, too,
But, you’s sweet to yo’ mammy jes de same.

Up der in de big house w’ere dey lib so rich an’ gran’
Dey’s got chillen dat dey lubs, I s’pose;
Chillen dat is purty, oh, but dey can’t lub dem mo’
Dan yo’ mammy lubs you, heaben knows!

Dey may t’ink you’s homely, an’ yo’ clo’es dey may be po’,
But yo’ shinin’ eyes, dey hol’s a light
Dat, my Honey, w’en you opens dem so big an’ roun’,
Makes you lubly in yo’ mammy’s sight.

A Plantation Bacchanal

W’en ole Mister Sun gits tiah’d a-hangin’
High up in de sky;
W’en der ain’t no thunder and light’nin’ a-bangin’,
An’ de crap’s done all laid by;
W’en yo’ bones ain’t achin’ wid de rheumatics,
Den yo’ ride de mule to town,
Git a great big jug o’ de ole corn juice,
An’ w’en you drink her down⁠—

Jes lay away ole Trouble,
An’ dry up all yo’ tears;
Yo’ pleasure sho’ to double
An’ you bound to lose yo’ keers.
Jes lay away ole Sorrer
High upon de shelf;
And never mind to-morrer,
’Twill take care of itself.

W’en ole Mister Age begins a-stealin’
Thoo yo’ back an’ knees,
W’en