“Yes, as master of the house.”

“You don’t mean it?”

“I certainly do.  He owns it, and made every cent of the money that paid for it!” said the Major proudly.  “That’s why I wanted you particularly to note that ‘eminent characteristic’ I spoke of.  Tommy could just as well be sitting, with a fine cigar, on the front piazza in an easy chair, as, with his dhudeen, on the back porch, on an empty box, where every night you’ll find him.  Its the unconscious dropping back into the old ways of his father, and his father’s father, and his father’s father’s father.  In brief, he sits there the poor lorn symbol of the long oppression of his race.”

RAGWEED AND FENNEL

WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE.

I.

  When my dreams come true—­when my dreams come true—­
  Shall I lean from out my casement, in the starlight and the dew,
  To listen—­smile and listen to the tinkle of the strings
  Of the sweet guitar my lover’s fingers fondle, as he sings? 
  And as the nude moon slowly, slowly shoulders into view,
  Shall I vanish from his vision—­when my dreams come true?

  When my dreams come true—­shall the simple gown I wear
  Be changed to softest satin, and my maiden-braided hair
  Be raveled into flossy mists of rarest, fairest gold,
  To be minted into kisses, more than any heart can hold?—­
  Or “the summer of my tresses” shall my lover liken to
  “The fervor of his passion”—­when my dreams come true?

II.

  When my dreams come true—­I shall bide among the sheaves
  Of happy harvest meadows; and the grasses and the leaves
  Shall lift and lean between me and the splendor of the sun,
  Till the noon swoons into twilight, and the gleaners’ work is done—­
  Save that yet an arm shall bind me, even as the reapers do
  The meanest sheaf of harvest—­when my dreams come true.

  When my dreams come true! when my dreams come true! 
  True love in all simplicity is fresh and pure as dew;—­
  The blossom in the blackest mold is kindlier to the eye
  Than any lily born of pride that looms against the sky: 
  And so it is I know my heart will gladly welcome you,
  My lowliest of lovers, when my dreams come true.

A DOS’T O’ BLUES.

  I’ got no patience with blues at all! 
    And I ust to kindo talk
  Aginst ’em, and claim, ’tel along last Fall,
    They was none in the fambly stock;
  But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy,
    That visited us last year,
  He kindo convinct me differunt
    While he was a-stayin’ here.

  Frum ever’-which way that blues is from,
    They’d tackle him ever’ ways;
  They’d come to him in the night, and come
    On Sundays, and rainy days;
  They’d tackle him in corn-plantin’ time,
    And in harvest, and airly Fall,
  But a dose ’t of blues in the wintertime,
    He ’lowed, was the worst of all!