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Cool is the wind, for the summer is waning,
Who's for the road?
Sun-flecked and soft, where the dead leaves are raining,
Who's for the road?
Knapsack and alpenstock press hand and shoulder,
Prick of the brier and roll of the boulder;
This be your lot till the season grow older;
Who's for the road?
Up and away in the hush of the morning,
Who's for the road?
Vagabond he, all conventions a-scorning,
Who's for the road?
Music of warblers so merrily singing,
Draughts from the rill from the roadside up-springing,
Nectar of grapes from the vines lowly swinging,
These on the road.
Now every house is a hut or a hovel,
Come to the road:
Mankind and moles in the dark love to grovel,
But to the road.
Throw off the loads that are bending you double;
Love is for life, only labor is trouble;
Truce to the town, whose best gift is a bubble:
Come to the road!
This poem is in the public domain.
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Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906) was from Ohio. He wrote his first poem at the age of six, was editor of his high school newspaper, and published his first book at twenty. His writing attracted attention from the very beginning, and Paul became well-known in both America and around the world. Like James Whitcomb Riley, who was a fan of his young contemporary's work, Paul wrote many of his poems in dialect. Besides a dozen books of poetry, Paul wrote four short story collections, five novels, a play, and the first Broadway musical ever written and performed by African-Americans. A tremendously successful poet whose work was being published in all the major literary publications of his day, Paul's life was cut tragically short by tuberculosis.
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erinsnana:
I loved this poem, though I never "hit the road" myself.
Posted 09/16/2015 11:42 AM
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cork:
I'm for the road!
Posted 09/16/2015 08:31 AM
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paradea:
Grand!!!
Posted 09/16/2015 07:40 AM
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Walcottjm:
I want to sing this and head out on the road. So many of his poems could be songs.
Posted 09/16/2015 07:30 AM
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