Little Brown Baby
Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes, Come to yo' pappy an' set on his knee. What you been doin', suh — makin' san' pies? Look at dat bib — you's es du'ty ez me. Look at dat mouf — dat's merlasses,
I bet; Come hyeah,
Maria, an' wipe off his han's. Bees gwine to ketch you an' eat you up yit, Bein' so sticky an sweet — goodness lan's! Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes, Who's pappy's darlin' an' who's pappy's chile? Who is it all de day nevah once tries Fu' to be cross, er once loses dat smile? Whah did you git dem teef?
My, you's a scamp! Whah did dat dimple come f'om in yo' chin? Pappy do' know you — I b'lieves you's a tramp; Mammy, dis hyeah's some ol' straggler got in! Let's th'ow him outen de do' in de san', We do' want stragglers a-layin' 'roun' hyeah; Let's gin him 'way to de big buggah-man; I know he's hidin' erroun' hyeah right neah. Buggah-man, buggah-man, come in de do', Hyeah's a bad boy you kin have fu' to eat. Mammy an' pappy do' want him no mo', Swaller him down f'om his haid to his feet! Dah, now,
I t'ought dat you'd hug me up close. Go back, ol' buggah, you sha'n't have dis boy. He ain't no tramp, ner no straggler, of co'se; He's pappy's pa'dner an' play-mate an' joy. Come to you' pallet now — go to yo' res'; Wisht you could allus know ease an' cleah skies; Wisht you could stay jes' a chile on my breas'— Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes!
Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.
Form: ababcdcd aeaefgfg hihijkjk ': 's es du'ty ez me: you's as dirty as me19.buggah-man: bogey man.
Paul Laurence Dunbar
Other author posts
Theology
There is a heaven, for ever, day by day, The upward longing of my soul doth tell me so There is a hell, I'm quite as sure; for pray If there were not, where would my neighbours go
The Old Apple-Tree
RE's a memory keeps a-runnin'Through my weary head to-night, An' I see a picture dancin'In the fire-flames' ruddy-light;'Tis the picture of an orchard Wrapped in autumn's purple haze, With the tender light about That I loved in othe...
Summer in the South
The Oriole sings in the greening grove As if he were half-way waiting, The rosebuds peep from their hoods of green, Timid, and hesitating The rain comes down in a torrent sweep And the nights smell warm and pinety,
Dawn
AN angel, robed in spotless white, Bent down and kissed the sleeping Night Night woke to blush; the sprite was gone Men saw the blush and called it Dawn
