ON the wide veranda white, <br />In the purple failing light, <br />Sits the master while the sun is lowly burning; <br />And his dreamy thoughts are drowned <br />In the softly flowing sound <br />Of the corn-songs of the field-hands slow returning. <br />Oh, we hoe de co'n <br />Since de ehly mo'n; <br />Now de sinkin' sun <br />Says de day is done. <br />O'er the fields with heavy tread, <br />Light of heart and high of head, <br />Though the halting steps be labored, slow, and weary; <br />Still the spirits brave and strong <br />Find a comforter in song, <br />And their corn-song rises ever loud and cheery. <br />Oh, we hoe de co'n <br />Since de ehly mo'n; <br />Now de sinkin' sun <br />Says de day is done. <br />To the master in his seat, <br />Comes the burden, full and sweet, <br />Of the mellow minor music growing clearer, <br />As the toilers raise the hymn, <br />Thro' the silence dusk and dim, <br />To the cabin's restful shelter drawing nearer. <br />Oh, we hoe de co'n <br />Since de ehly mo'n; <br />Now de sinkin' sun <br />Says de day is done. <br />And a tear is in the eye <br />Of the master sitting by, <br />As he listens to the echoes low-replying <br />To the music's fading calls <br />As it faints away and falls <br />Into silence, deep within the cabin dying. <br />Oh, we hoe de co'n <br />Since de ehly mo'n; <br />Now de sinkin' sun <br />Says de day is done.<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-corn-song/
