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Paul Laurence Dunbar - To An Ingrate
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This is to-day, a golden summer`s day
    And yet--and yet
    My vengeful soul will not forget
  The past, forever now forgot, you say.

  From that half height where I had sadly climbed,
    I stretched my hand,
    I lone in all that land,
  Down there, where, helpless, you were limed.

  Our fingers clasped, and dragging me a pace,
    You struggled up.
    It is a bitter Cup,
  That now for naught, you turn away your face.

  I shall remember this for aye and aye.
    Whate`er may come,
    Although my lips are dumb,
  My spirit holds you to that yesterday.
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