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1872–1906

TO THE EASTERN SHORE

Paul Laurence Dunbar

I‘ s feelin’ kin’ o’ lonesome in my little room to-night, An’ my min‘ s done los’ de minutes an’ de miles, Wile it teks me back a-flyin’ to de country of delight, Whaih de Chesapeake goes grumblin’ er wid smiles.

Oh, de ol’ plantation‘ s callin’ to me, Come, come back, Hyeah‘ s de place fu’ you to labouh an’ to res’, ‘ Fu my sandy roads is gleamin’ w'ile de city ways is black; Come back, honey, case yo’ country home is bes’.

I know de moon is shinin’ down erpon de Eastern sho’, An’ de bay‘ s a-sayin’ “Howdy” to de lan’; An’ de folks is all a-settin’ out erroun’ de cabin do’, Wid dey feet a-restin’ in de silvah san’;

An’ de ol’ plantation‘ s callin’ to me, Come, oh, come, F'om de life dat‘ s des’ a-waihin’ you erway, F'om de trouble an’ de bustle, an’ de agernizin’ hum Dat de city keeps ergoin’ all de day.

I‘ s tiahed of de city, tek me back to Sandy Side, Whaih de po'est ones kin live an’ play an’ eat; Whaih we draws a simple livin’ f'om de fo'est an’ de tide, An’ de days ah faih, an’ evah night is sweet.

Fu’ de ol’ plantation‘ s callin’ to me, Come, oh, come. An’ de Chesapeake‘ s a-sayin’ “Dat's de t'ing,” W'ile my little cabin beckons, dough his mouf is closed an’ dumb, I‘ s a-comin, an’ my hea't begins to sing.

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TO THE EASTERN SHORE · Paul Laurence Dunbar · Poetry Cove