I have seen full many a sight <br />Born of day or drawn by night: <br />Sunlight on a silver stream, <br />Golden lilies all a-dream, <br />Lofty mountains, bold and proud, <br />Veiled beneath the lacelike cloud; <br />But no lovely sight I know <br />Equals Dinah kneading dough. <br /> <br />Brown arms buried elbow-deep <br />Their domestic rhythm keep, <br />As with steady sweep they go <br />Through the gently yielding dough. <br />Maids may vaunt their finer charms-- <br />Naught to me like Dinah's arms; <br />Girls may draw, or paint, or sew-- <br />I love Dinah kneading dough. <br /> <br />Eyes of jet and teeth of pearl, <br />Hair, some say, too tight a-curl; <br />But the dainty maid I deem <br />Very near perfection's dream. <br />Swift she works, and only flings <br />Me a glance--the least of things. <br />And I wonder, does she know <br />That my heart is in the dough?<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dinah-kneading-dough/
