A crust of bread and a corner to sleep in. A minute to smile and an hour to weep in. A pint of joy to a peck of trouble, And never a laugh but the moans come double. And that… — Paul Laurence Dunbar Copy Share Image
We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,- - This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile And mouth with myriad subtleties. Why should the world… — Paul Laurence Dunbar Copy Share Image
Hope is tenacious. It goes on living and working when science has dealt it what should be its deathblow. — Paul Laurence Dunbar Copy Share Image
“Love me, honey, love me true? Love me well ez I love you? An' she answe'd, " 'Cose I do" -- Jump back, honey, jump back.” — Paul Laurence Dunbar Copy Share
I hope there is something worthy in my writings and not merely the novelty of a black face associated with the power to rhyme… — Paul Laurence Dunbar Copy Share Image
Washington is the city where the big men of little towns come to be disillusioned — Paul Laurence Dunbar Copy Share Image
It's all a farce, - these tales they tell About the breezes sighing, And moans astir o'er field and dell, Because the year is… — Paul Laurence Dunbar Copy Share Image
“Beyond the Years I the years the answer lies, Beyond where brood the grieving skies And Night drops tears. Where Faith rod-chastened smiles to rise And doff its fears, And carping Sorrow pines and dies— Beyond the years. II Beyond the years the prayer for rest Shall beat no more within the breast; The darkness clears, And Morn perched on… — Paul Laurence Dunbar Copy Share
This, this indeed is to be accursed, For if we mortals love, or if we sing, We count our joys not by what we… — Paul Laurence Dunbar Copy Share Image
“What dreams we have and how they fly Like rosy clouds across the sky; Of wealth, of fame, of sure success, Of love that… — Paul Laurence Dunbar Copy Share Image
The age is materialistic. Verse isn't. I must be with the age, so I am writing prose. — Paul Laurence Dunbar Copy Share Image
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me, when his wing is bruised and his bosom sore; when he beats his bars and… — Paul Laurence Dunbar Copy Share Image
We reduce the deity to vulgar fractions. We place our own little ambitions and label them ?divine messages?. With our short sight we affect… — Paul Laurence Dunbar Copy Share Image
A song fluttered down in the form of a dove, And it bore me a message, the one word-Love! — Paul Laurence Dunbar Copy Share Image
