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Paul Laurence Dunbar - Weltschmertz
Work rating: Low

You ask why I am sad to-day,
  I have no cares, no griefs, you say?
  Ah, yes, `t is true, I have no grief--
  But--is there not the falling leaf?

  The bare tree there is mourning left
  With all of autumn`s gray bereft;
  It is not what has happened me,
  Think of the bare, dismantled tree.

  The birds go South along the sky,
  I hear their lingering, long good-bye.
  Who goes reluctant from my breast?
  And yet--the lone and wind-swept nest.

  The mourning, pale-flowered hearse goes by,
  Why does a tear come to my eye?
  Is it the March rain blowing wild?
  I have no dead, I know no child.

  I am no widow by the bier
  Of him I held supremely dear.
  I have not seen the choicest one
  Sink down as sinks the westering sun.

  Faith unto faith have I beheld,
  For me, few solemn notes have swelled;
  Love bekoned me out to the dawn,
  And happily I followed on.

  And yet my heart goes out to them
  Whose sorrow is their diadem;
  The falling leaf, the crying bird,
  The voice to be, all lost, unheard--

  Not mine, not mine, and yet too much
  The thrilling power of human touch,
  While all the world looks on and scorns
  I wear another`s crown of thorns.

  Count me a priest who understands
  The glorious pain of nail-pierced hands;
  Count me a comrade of the thief
  Hot driven into late belief.

  Oh, mother`s tear, oh, father`s sigh,
  Oh, mourning sweetheart`s last good-bye,
  I yet have known no mourning save
  Beside some brother`s brother`s grave.
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