An’ all dat Big Boy axes When time comes fo’ to go Lemme be wid John Henry, steel drivin’ man Lemme be wid ole Jazzbo; Lemme be wid ole Jazzbo.... MAUMEE RUTH Might as well bury her And bury her deep, Might as well put her Where she can sleep. Might as well lay her Out in her shiny black; And for the love of God Not wish her back. Maum Sal may miss her Maum Sal, she only With no one now to scoff Sal may be lonely.... Nobody else there is Who will be caring How rocky was the road For her wayfaring; Nobody be heeding in Cabin, or town That she is lying here In her best gown. Boy that she suckled How should he know Hiding in city holes Sniffing the ‘snow’? And how should the news Pierce Harlem’s din To reach her baby gal, Sodden with gin? To cut her withered heart They cannot come again, Preach her the lies about Jordan and then Might as well drop her Deep in the ground Might as well pray for her That she sleep sound.... LONG GONE I laks yo’ kin’ of lovin’ Ain’t never caught you wrong But it jes ain’ nachal Fo’ to stay here long; It jes ain’ nachal Fo’ a railroad man With a itch fo’ travellin’ He cain’t understan’.... I looks at de rails An’ I looks at de ties, An I hears an ole freight Puffin’ up de rise, An’ at nights on my pallet When all is still I listens fo’ de empties Bumpin’ up de hill; When I oughta be quiet I is got a itch Fo’ to hear de whistle blow Fo’ de crossin’, or de switch, An’ I knows de time’s a nearin’ When I got to ride Though its homelike and happy At yo’ side. You is done all you could do To make me stay Tain’t no fault of yours I’se leavin’-- I’se jes dataway. I is got to see some people I ain’ never seen Gotta highball thu some country Whah I never been.... I don’t know which way I’m travellin’-- Far or near, All I knows fo’ certain is I cain’t stay here. Ain’t no call at all, sweet woman Fo’ to carry on,-- Jes my name and jes my habit To be Long Gone.... TO A CERTAIN LADY, IN HER GARDEN (_A. S._) Lady, my lady, come from out the garden, Clayfingered, dirtysmocked, and in my time I too shall learn the quietness of Arden, Knowledge so long a stranger to my rhyme. What were more fitting than your springtime task? Here, close engirdled by your vines and flowers Surely there is no other grace to ask, No better cloister from the bickering hours. A step beyond, the dingy streets begin With all their farce, and silly tragedy--But here, unmindful of the futile din You grow your flowers, far wiser certainly, You and your garden sum the same to me, A sense of strange and momentary pleasure, And beauty snatched--oh, fragmentarily Perhaps, yet who can boast of other seizure? Oh, you have somehow robbed, I know not how The secret of the loveliness of these Whom you have served so long. Oh, shameless, now You flaunt the winnings of your thieveries.