THE DOVE

  Out of the sunshine and out of the heat,
  Out of the dust of the grimy street,
  A song fluttered down in the form of a dove,
  And it bore me a message, the one word—­Love!

  Ah, I was toiling, and oh, I was sad: 
  I had forgotten the way to be glad. 
  Now, smiles for my sadness and for my toil, rest
  Since the dove fluttered down to its home in my breast!

A WARM DAY IN WINTER

  “Sunshine on de medders,
    Greenness on de way;
  Dat ’s de blessed reason
    I sing all de day.” 
  Look hyeah!  Whut you axin’? 
    Whut meks me so merry? 
  ‘Spect to see me sighin’
    W’en hit’s wa’m in Febawary?

  ‘Long de stake an’ rider
    Seen a robin set;
  W’y hit ‘mence a-thawin’,
    Groun’ is monst’ous wet. 
  Den you stan’ dah wond’rin’,
    Lookin’ skeert an’ stary;
  I’s a right to caper
    W’en hit’s wa’m in Febawary.

  Missis gone a-drivin’,
    Mastah gone to shoot;
  Ev’ry da’ky lazin’
    In de sun to boot. 
  Qua’tah ’s moughty pleasant,
    Hangin’ ‘roun’ my Mary;
  Cou’tin’ boun’ to prospah
    W’en hit’s wa’m in Febawary.

  Cidah look so pu’ty
    Po’in’ f’om de jug—­
  Don’ you see it’s happy? 
    Hyeah it laffin’—­glug? 
  Now’s de time fu’ people
    Fu’ to try an’ bury
  All dey grief an’ sorrer,
    W’en hit’s wa’m in Febawary.

SNOWIN’

  Dey is snow upon de meddahs, dey is snow upon de hill,
  An’ de little branch’s watahs is all glistenin’ an’ still;
  De win’ goes roun’ de cabin lak a sperrit wan’erin’ ‘roun’. 
  An’ de chillen shakes an’ shivahs as dey listen to de soun’. 
  Dey is hick’ry in de fiahplace, whah de blaze is risin’ high,
  But de heat it meks ain’t wa’min’ up de gray clouds in de sky. 
  Now an’ den I des peep outside, den I hurries to de do’,
  Lawd a mussy on my body, how I wish it would n’t snow!

  I kin stan’ de hottes’ summah, I kin stan’ de wettes’ fall,
  I kin stan’ de chilly springtime in de ploughland, but dat’s all;
  Fu’ de ve’y hottes’ fiah nevah tells my skin a t’ing,
  W’en de snow commence a-flyin’, an’ de win’ begin to sing. 
  Dey is plenty wood erroun’ us, an’ I chop an’ tote it in,
  But de t’oughts dat I ‘s a t’inkin’ while I ‘s wo’kin’ is a sin. 
  I kin keep f’om downright swahin’ all de time I ’s on de go,
  But my hea’t is full o’ cuss-wo’ds w’en I’s trampin’ thoo de snow.

  What you say, you Lishy Davis, dat you see a possum’s tracks? 
  Look hyeah, boy, you stop yo’ foolin’, bring ol’ Spot, an’ bring de ax. 
  Is I col’?  Go way, now, Mandy, what you t’ink I’s made of?—­sho,
  W’y dis win’ is des ez gentle, an’ dis ain’t no kin’ o’ snow. 
  Dis hyeah weathah ’s des ez healthy ez de wa’mest summah days. 
  All you chillen step up lively, pile on wood an’ keep a blaze. 
  What’s de use o’ gittin’ skeery case dey ‘s snow upon de groun’? 
  Huh-uh, I ’s a reg’lar snowbird ef dey ’s any possum ‘roun’.