By Paul Laurence Dunbar
Thou art my lute, by thee I sing,—
My being is attuned to thee.
Thou settest all my words a-wing,
And meltest me to melody.
Thou art my life, by thee I live,
From thee proceed the joys I know;
Sweetheart, thy hand has power to give
The meed of love—the cup of woe.
Thou art my love, by thee I lead
My soul the paths of light along,
From vale to vale, from mead to mead,
And home it in the hills of song.
My song, my soul, my life, my all,
Why need I pray or make my plea,
Since my petition cannot fall;
For I’m already one with thee!
Poet Bio
The son of former slaves, Paul Laurence Dunbar was the first African-American poet to reach a wide audience, publishing prolifically before his early death. His use of both dialect and standard English to portray his culture’s folkways, joys, and travails distinguishes him from other writers of the time. He also spoke out against racism and injustice in essays that appeared in the Atlantic Monthly, the Saturday Evening Post, and other mainstream publications.
More By This Poet
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I am the mother of sorrows,
I am the ender of grief;
I am the bud and the blossom,
I am the late-falling leaf.
I am thy priest and thy poet,
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Invitation to Love
Come when the nights are bright with stars
Or come when the moon is mellow;
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I play the egg
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I play the reed
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I play the lyre
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The man I pulled tonight
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When I felt him watching
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He gave me lunar
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When I answered him,
I smiled to his face.
He wore the moonlight
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More Poems about Love
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It’s true: I almost never
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when the voice
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Sunshower
Some people say the devil is beating
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Back Up Quick They’re Hippies
That was the year we drove
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“Jesus Jim,” mam said,
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and the babies themselves
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I...
Maui’s Mission
In the warmth of night I put feet to my plan: waited
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