 | The Collected Poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar : |  |
TO AN INGRATE
This is to-day, a golden summer's day
And yet—and yet
My vengeful soul will not forget
The past, forever now forgot, you say.
And yet—and yet
My vengeful soul will not forget
The past, forever now forgot, you say.
From that half height where I had sadly climbed,
I stretched my hand,
I lone in all that land,
Down there, where, helpless, you were limed.
I stretched my hand,
I lone in all that land,
Down there, where, helpless, you were limed.
Our fingers clasped, and dragging me a pace,
You struggled up.
It is a bitter Cup,
That now for naught, you turn away your face.
You struggled up.
It is a bitter Cup,
That now for naught, you turn away your face.
I shall remember this for aye and aye.
Whate'er may come,
Although my lips are dumb,
My spirit holds you to that yesterday.
Whate'er may come,
Although my lips are dumb,
My spirit holds you to that yesterday.
| The Collected Poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar : | |