The Poetry Corner

Dinah Kneading Dough

By Paul Laurence Dunbar

I have seen full many a sight Born of day or drawn by night: Sunlight on a silver stream, Golden lilies all a-dream, Lofty mountains, bold and proud, Veiled beneath the lacelike cloud; But no lovely sight I know Equals Dinah kneading dough. Brown arms buried elbow-deep Their domestic rhythm keep, As with steady sweep they go Through the gently yielding dough. Maids may vaunt their finer charms-- Naught to me like Dinah's arms; Girls may draw, or paint, or sew-- I love Dinah kneading dough. Eyes of jet and teeth of pearl, Hair, some say, too tight a-curl; But the dainty maid I deem Very near perfection's dream. Swift she works, and only flings Me a glance--the least of things. And I wonder, does she know That my heart is in the dough?