L'Envoi.

Oh, awful Power whose works repel
The marvel of the earth's designs,--
I 'll hie me otherwhere to dwell,
Arcadia has trolley lines.

Paul Laurence Dunbar

Paul Laurence Dunbar was an influential American poet, novelist, and playwright of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Born in Dayton, Ohio, Dunbar gained national recognition for his dialectic verse and collections of poems such as 'Majors and Minors' (1895) and 'Lyrics of Lowly Life' (1896). His works often addressed themes of racial identity and struggle, making significant contributions to African American literature. Dunbar's writings served as an inspiration for later writers of the Harlem Renaissance.

Paul Laurence Dunbar

The Mystery

Paul Laurence Dunbar, Simple Poetry

Just Whistle A Bit

Paul Laurence Dunbar, Simple Poetry

The Debt

Paul Laurence Dunbar, Simple Poetry

Itching Heels

Paul Laurence Dunbar, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

L' Envoi

Ye voices, that arose
After the Evening's close,
And whispered to my restless heart repose!

Go, breathe it in the ear
Of all who doubt and fear,
And say to them, "Be of good cheer!"

Ye sounds, so low and calm,
That in the groves of balm
Seemed to me like an angel's psalm!

Go, mingle yet once more
With the perpetual roar
Of the pine forest dark and hoar!

Tongues of the dead, not lost
But speaking from deaths frost,
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost!

Glimmer, as funeral lamps,
Amid the chills and damps
Of the vast plain where Death encamps!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

L'Envoi - The Poet And His Songs

As the birds come in the Spring,
    We know not from where;
As the stars come at evening
    From depths of the air;

As the rain comes from the cloud,
    And the brook from the ground;
As suddenly, low or loud,
    Out of silence a sound;

As the grape comes to the vine,
    The fruit to the tree;
As the wind comes to the pine,
    And the tide to the sea;

As come the white sails of ships
    O'er the ocean's verge;
As comes the smile to the lips,
    The foam to the surge;

So come to the Poet his songs,
    All hitherward blown
From the misty realm, that belongs
    To the vast unknown.

His, and not his, are the lays
    He sings; and their fame
Is his, and not his; and the praise
    And the p...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Farewell To Arcady

With sombre mien, the Evening gray
Comes nagging at the heels of Day,
And driven faster and still faster
Before the dusky-mantled Master,
The light fades from her fearful eyes,
She hastens, stumbles, falls, and dies.

Beside me Amaryllis weeps;
The swelling tears obscure the deeps
Of her dark eyes, as, mistily,
The rushing rain conceals the sea.
Here, lay my tuneless reed away,--
I have no heart to tempt a lay.

I scent the perfume of the rose
Which by my crystal fountain grows.
In this sad time, are roses blowing?
And thou, my fountain, art thou flowing,

While I who watched thy waters spring
Am all too sad to smile or sing?
Nay, give me back my pipe again,
It yet shall breathe this single strain:
Farewell to Arcady!

Paul Laurence Dunbar

L'Envoi

The Return of the Sire de Nesle.
A.D. 16

My towers at last! These rovings end,
Their thirst is slaked in larger dearth:
The yearning infinite recoils,
For terrible is earth.

Kaf thrusts his snouted crags through fog:
Araxes swells beyond his span,
And knowledge poured by pilgrimage
Overflows the banks of man.

But thou, my stay, thy lasting love
One lonely good, let this but be!
Weary to view the wide world's swarm,
But blest to fold but thee.

Herman Melville

L'Envoi.

I'm the ghost of that poor gobbler
    Who used to be so great,
They took my poor, neglected bones
    And piled them on a plate.
Reader, shed a kindly tear
    For my unhappy fate.

This is the common lot of all
    Upon the world's great chart;
We've got to leave a pile of bones--
    The stupid and the smart.
Even when Napoleon died
    He left a Bonaparte.

We are merely puppets
    Moving on a string,
And when we think that we are IT,
    The axe will fall--"Gezing!"
O, Grave, where is thy victory?
    O, Death, where is thy sting?

Edwin C. Ranck

Night

Silence, and whirling worlds afar
Through all encircling skies.
What floods come o'er the spirit's bar,
What wondrous thoughts arise.

The earth, a mantle falls away,
And, winged, we leave the sod;
Where shines in its eternal sway
The majesty of God.

Paul Laurence Dunbar