by Paul Laurence Dunbar
DEEP in my heart that aches with the re-
And strives with plenitude of bitter pain,
There lives a thought that clamors for ex-
And spends its undelivered force in vain.
What boots it that some other may have
The right of thoughts' expression is divine;
The price of pain I pay for it has bought it,
I care not who lays claim to it--'t is mine!
And yet not mine until it be delivered;
The manner of its birth shall prove the test.
Alas, alas, my rock of pride is shivered--
I beat my brow--the thought still unex-