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 | The Collected Poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar : |  |
THE DEATH OF THE FIRST BORN
Cover him over with daisies white
And eke with the poppies red,
Sit with me here by his couch tonight,
For the First-Born, Love, is dead.
And eke with the poppies red,
Sit with me here by his couch tonight,
259
Poor little fellow, he seemed so fair
As he lay in my jealous arms;
Silent and cold he is lying there
Stripped of his darling charms.
As he lay in my jealous arms;
Silent and cold he is lying there
Stripped of his darling charms.
Lusty and strong he had grown forsooth,
Sweet with an infinite grace,
Proud in the force of his conquering youth,
Laughter alight in his face.
Sweet with an infinite grace,
Proud in the force of his conquering youth,
Laughter alight in his face.
Oh, but the blast, it was cruel and keen,
And ah, but the chill it was rare;
The look of the winter-kissed flow'r you've seen
When meadows and fields were bare.
And ah, but the chill it was rare;
The look of the winter-kissed flow'r you've seen
When meadows and fields were bare.
Can you not wake from this white, cold sleep
And speak to me once again?
True that your slumber is deep, so deep,
But deeper by far is my pain.
And speak to me once again?
True that your slumber is deep, so deep,
But deeper by far is my pain.
Cover him over with daisies white,
And eke with the poppies red,
Sit with me here by his couch tonight,
For the First-Born, Love, is dead.
And eke with the poppies red,
Sit with me here by his couch tonight,
For the First-Born, Love, is dead.
| The Collected Poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar : | |