| James Weldon Johnson, ed. (1871–1938). The Book of American Negro Poetry. 1922. |
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| Paul Laurence Dunbar |
| | | James D. Corrothers |
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| HE came, a youth, singing in the dawn | |
| Of a new freedom, glowing o’er his lyre, | |
| Refining, as with great Apollo’s fire, | |
| His people’s gift of song. And thereupon, | |
| This Negro singer, come to Helicon | 5 |
| Constrained the masters, listening to admire, | |
| And roused a race to wonder and aspire, | |
| Gazing which way their honest voice was gone, | |
| With ebon face uplit of glory’s crest. | |
| Men marveled at the singer, strong and sweet, | 10 |
| Who brought the cabin’s mirth, the tuneful night, | |
| But faced the morning, beautiful with light, | |
| To die while shadows yet fell toward the west, | |
| And leave his laurels at his people’s feet. | |
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| Dunbar, no poet wears your laurels now; | 15 |
| None rises, singing, from your race like you. | |
| Dark melodist, immortal, though the dew | |
| Fell early on the bays upon your brow, | |
| And tinged with pathos every halcyon vow | |
| And brave endeavor. Silence o’er you threw | 20 |
| Flowerets of love. Or, if an envious few | |
| Of your own people brought no garlands, how | |
| Could Malice smite him whom the gods had crowned? | |
| If, like the meadow-lark, your flight was low | |
| Your flooded lyrics half the hilltops drowned; | 25 |
| A wide world heard you, and it loved you so | |
| It stilled its heart to list the strains you sang, | |
| And o’er your happy songs its plaudits rang. | |
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