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Negro Poems, Melodies |
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I saw the old plantation
A home to him no more, A cabin small and homely
And children round the door; And flowers wreathing roses
And breathing sweets around, And this was down in Georgia
And Missus walking around.
I know he was a bondman,
His flesh still lacked the pound, For he was murmuring Georgia
And Missus walking round; He whistled and he shuffled—
Some joy was breaking ground, Or why did he mention Georgia?
And Missus walking round. |
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