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JUST A’WEARYIN’ FOR YOU
Frank Stanton 1857-1927

Just a’wearyin’ for you
All the time a'feelin' blue,
Wishin’ for you, wonderin’ when
You’ll be comin’ home again,
Restless, don’t know what to do,
Just a’wearyin’ for you.

Mornin' comes, the birds awake,
Seem to sing so for your sake,
But there’s sadness in the notes
That come trillin’ from their throats,
Seem to feel a sadness too,
Just a’wearyin’ for you.

Evenin' comes, I miss you more
When the dark gloom’s round the door,
Seems just like you ought to be
Here to open it for me,
Latch goes tinklin‘, thrills me through,
Sets me wearyin’ for you.

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THE LITTLE VAGABOND
William Blake 1757-1827

Dear mother, dear mother, the church is cold,
But the ale-house is healthy and pleasant and warm;
Besides I can tell where I am used well,
Such usage in Heaven will never do well.

But if at the church they would give us some ale,
And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,
We'd sing and we'd pray all the live-long day,
Nor ever once wish from the church to stray.

Then the parson might preach, and drink, and sing,
And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring;
And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church,
Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.

And God, like a father rejoicing to see
His children as pleasant and happy as he,
Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel,
But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel.

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SYMPATHY
Paul Laurence Dunbar 1872-1906

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
    When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;  
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,  
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
    When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,  
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals - 

I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing
    Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;  
For he must fly back to his perch and cling  
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars  
And they pulse again with a keener sting -
I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
    When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore, -
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
    But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,  
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings -
I know why the caged bird sings!

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THE ARROW AND THE SONG
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow  1807-82

I shot an Arrow into the air,
It fell to earth I know not where,
For so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breath'd a Song into the air,
It fell to earth, I know not where.
For who has sight so keen and strong
That it can follow the flight of a song?

Long, long afterward in an oak
I found the Arrow still unbroke;
And the Song from beginning to end
I found again in the heart of a friend.

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More poems next Monday

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