The Poetry Corner


By Paul Laurence Dunbar

Know you, winds that blow your course Down the verdant valleys, That somewhere you must, perforce, Kiss the brow of Alice? When her gentle face you find, Kiss it softly, naughty wind. Roses waving fair and sweet Thro' the garden alleys, Grow into a glory meet For the eye of Alice; Let the wind your offering bear Of sweet perfume, faint and rare. Lily holding crystal dew In your pure white chalice, Nature kind hath fashioned you Like the soul of Alice; It of purest white is wrought, Filled with gems of crystal thought.