 | The Collected Poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar : |  |
The Old Story
I stand beside the window here
And gaze at John and May,
As hand in hand, unheeding aught,
They wend their wooing way;
And, oh, it brings me back the days,
Ere age had changed my view,
And every tale I heard or told
I still believed was new.
And gaze at John and May,
As hand in hand, unheeding aught,
They wend their wooing way;
And, oh, it brings me back the days,
Ere age had changed my view,
And every tale I heard or told
I still believed was new.
Go on, go on, my happy boy,
And read your brief romance;
Youth is the time for love and rhyme,
So do not lose your chance.
The joys that blessed my early days
I would not keep from you;
For soon you'll find the happy tale
Won't always seem so new.
And read your brief romance;
Youth is the time for love and rhyme,
So do not lose your chance.
The joys that blessed my early days
I would not keep from you;
For soon you'll find the happy tale
Won't always seem so new.
We used to stroll, long years ago,
About the same old way;
You were a blushing maiden then,
And I a lover gay.
I told you how my heart was yours,
And that I'd prove it true,
'Twas an old, old tale I told you, Kate,
But, ah, we thought 'twas new.
About the same old way;
You were a blushing maiden then,
And I a lover gay.
I told you how my heart was yours,
And that I'd prove it true,
'Twas an old, old tale I told you, Kate,
But, ah, we thought 'twas new.
And as I stand and watch them here
It all comes back to me;
The shady walks, the loving talks,
In days that used to be.
There they go walking slow, absorbed,
Just as we used to do;
It's an old, old tale he's telling, Kate,
But, ah, they think it new.
It all comes back to me;
324
In days that used to be.
There they go walking slow, absorbed,
Just as we used to do;
It's an old, old tale he's telling, Kate,
But, ah, they think it new.
But can it be that I am wrong,
Have I grown crabbed with age?
Let me turn back life's closing book,
And view that older page.
I'm partly wrong, I'm partly right,
Love's story's old, 'tis true;
But though 'twas born in earth's first morn,
Love's self is ever new.
Have I grown crabbed with age?
Let me turn back life's closing book,
And view that older page.
I'm partly wrong, I'm partly right,
Love's story's old, 'tis true;
But though 'twas born in earth's first morn,
Love's self is ever new.
| The Collected Poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar : | |