by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Love used to carry a bow, you know,
But now he carries a taper;
It is either a length of wax aglow,
Or a twist of lighted paper.
I pondered a little about the scamp,
And then I decided to follow
His wandering journey to field and camp,
Up hill, and down dale or hollow.
I dogged the rollicking, gay, young blade
In every species of weather;
Till, leading me straight to the home of a maid
He left us there together.
And then I saw it, oh, sweet surprise,
The taper it set a-burning
The love-light brimming my lady’s eyes,
And my heart with the fire of yearning.