Spoken Songs

Fu' de peace o' my eachin' heels, set down;
  Don' fiddle dat chune no mo'.
Don' you see how dat melody stuhs me up
  An' baigs me to tek to de flo'?
You knows I 's a Christian, good an' strong;
  I wusship f'om June to June;
My pra'ahs dey ah loud an' my hymns ah long:
  I baig you don' fiddle dat chune.

I 's a crick in my back an' a misery hyeah
  Whaih de j'ints 's gittin' ol' an' stiff,
But hit seems lak you brings me de bref o' my youf;
  W'y, I 's suttain I noticed a w'iff.
Don' fiddle dat chune no mo', my chile,
  Don' fiddle dat chune no mo';
I 'll git up an' taih up dis groun' fu' a mile,
  An' den I 'll be chu'ched fu' it, sho'.

Oh, fiddle dat chune some mo', I say,
  An' fiddle it loud an' fas':
I's a youngstah ergin in de mi'st o' my sin;
  De p'esent 's gone back to de pas'.
I 'll dance to dat chune, so des fiddle erway;
  I knows how de backslidah feels;
So fiddle it on 'twell de break o' de day
  Fu' de sake o' my eachin' heels.

When to sweet music my lady is dancing
  My heart to mild frenzy her beauty inspires.
Into my face are her brown eyes a-glancing,
  And swift my whole frame thrills with tremulous fires.
Dance, lady, dance, for the moments are fleeting,
  Pause not to place yon refractory curl;
Life is for love and the night is for sweeting;
  Dreamily, joyously, circle and whirl.

Oh, how those viols are throbbing and pleading;
  A prayer is scarce needed in sound of their strain.
Surely and lightly as round you are speeding,
  You turn to confusion my heart and my brain.
Dance, lady, dance to the viol's soft calling,
  Skip it and trip it as light as the air;
Dance, for the moments like rose leaves are falling,
  Strikes, now, the clock from its place on the stair.

Now sinks the melody lower and lower,
  The weary musicians scarce seeming to play.
Ah, love, your steps now are slower and slower,
  The smile on your face is more sad and less gay.
Dance, lady, dance to the brink of our parting,
  My heart and your step must not fail to be light.
Dance! Just a turn -- tho' the tear-drop be starting.
  Ah -- now it is done -- so -- my lady, good-night!

Grass commence a-comin'
  Thoo de thawin' groun',
Evah bird dat whistles
  Keepin' noise erroun';
Cain't sleep in de mo'nin',
  Case befo' it 's light
Bluebird an' de robin,
  Done begun to fight.

Bluebird sass de robin,
  Robin sass him back,
Den de bluebird scol' him
  'Twell his face is black.
Would n' min' de quoilin'
  All de mo'nin' long,
'Cept it wakes me early,
  Case hit 's done in song.

Anybody wo'kin'
  Wants to sleep ez late
Ez de folks 'll 'low him,
  An' I wish to state
(Co'se dis ain't to scattah,
  But 'twix' me an' you),
I could stan' de bedclothes,
  Kin' o' latah, too.

'T ain't my natchul feelin',
  Dis hyeah mopin' spell.
I stan's early risin'
  Mos'ly moughty well;
But de ve'y minute,
  I feel Ap'il's heat,
Bless yo' soul, de bedclothes
  Nevah seemed so sweet.

Mastah, he's a-scol'in',
  Case de han's is slow,
All de hosses balkin',
  Jes' cain't mek 'em go.
Don' know whut's de mattah,
  Hit's a funny t'ing,
Less'n hit 's de fevah
  Dat you gits in spring.