The Poetry Corner

To An Ingrate

By Paul Laurence Dunbar

This is to-day, a golden summer's day And yet--and yet My vengeful soul will not forget The past, forever now forgot, you say. From that half height where I had sadly climbed, I stretched my hand, I lone in all that land, Down there, where, helpless, you were limed. Our fingers clasped, and dragging me a pace, You struggled up. It is a bitter Cup, That now for naught, you turn away your face. I shall remember this for aye and aye. Whate'er may come, Although my lips are dumb, My spirit holds you to that yesterday.