My soul, lost in the music’s mist,
  Roamed, rapt, ’neath skies of amethyst. 
  The cheerless streets grew summer meads,
  The Son of Phoebus spurred his steeds,
  And, wand’ring down the mazy tune,
  December lost its way in June,
  While from a verdant vale I heard
  The piping of a love-lorn bird.

  A something in the tender strain
  Revived an old, long-conquered pain,
  And as in depths of many seas,
  My heart was drowned in memories. 
  The tears came welling to my eyes,
  Nor could I ask it otherwise;
  For, oh! a sweetness seems to last
  Amid the dregs of sorrows past.

  It stirred a chord that here of late
  I ’d grown to think could not vibrate. 
  It brought me back the trust of youth,
  The world again was joy and truth. 
  And Avice, blooming like a bride,
  Once more stood trusting at my side. 
  But still, with bosom desolate,
  The lorn bird sang to find his mate.

  Then there are trees, and lights and stars,
  The silv’ry tinkle of guitars;
  And throbs again as throbbed that waltz,
  Before I knew that hearts were false. 
  Then like a cold wave on a shore,
  Comes silence and she sings no more. 
  I wake, I breathe, I think again,
  And walk the sordid ways of men.

SIGNS OF THE TIMES

  Air a-gittin’ cool an’ coolah,
    Frost a-comin’ in de night,
  Hicka’ nuts an’ wa’nuts fallin’,
    Possum keepin’ out o’ sight. 
  Tu’key struttin’ in de ba’nya’d,
    Nary step so proud ez his;
  Keep on struttin’, Mistah Tu’key,
    Yo’ do’ know whut time it is.

  Cidah press commence a-squeakin’
    Eatin’ apples sto’ed away,
  Chillun swa’min’ ‘roun’ lak ho’nets,
    Huntin’ aigs ermung de hay. 
  Mistah Tu’key keep on gobblin’
    At de geese a-flyin’ souf,
  Oomph! dat bird do’ know whut’s comin’;
    Ef he did he ’d shet his mouf.

  Pumpkin gittin’ good an’ yallah
    Mek me open up my eyes;
  Seems lak it’s a-lookin’ at me
    Jes’ a-la’in’ dah sayin’ “Pies.” 
  Tu’key gobbler gwine ‘roun’ blowin’,
    Gwine ‘roun’ gibbin’ sass an’ slack;
  Keep on talkin’, Mistah Tu’key,
    You ain’t seed no almanac.

  Fa’mer walkin’ th’oo de ba’nya’d
    Seein’ how things is comin’ on,
  Sees ef all de fowls is fatt’nin’—­
    Good times comin’ sho ’s you bo’n. 
  Hyeahs dat tu’key gobbler braggin’,
    Den his face break in a smile—­
  Nebbah min’, you sassy rascal,
    He ’s gwine nab you atter while.

  Choppin’ suet in de kitchen,
    Stonin’ raisins in de hall,
  Beef a-cookin’ fu’ de mince meat,
    Spices groun’—­I smell ’em all. 
  Look hyeah, Tu’key, stop dat gobblin’,
    You ain’ luned de sense ob feah,
  You ol’ fool, yo’ naik ’s in dangah,
    Do’ you know Thanksgibbin ’s hyeah?