How’s a man to write a sonnet, can you tell,–
How’s he going to weave the dim, poetic spell,–
When a-toddling on the floor
Is the muse he must adore,
And this muse he loves, not wisely, but too well?
Now, to write a sonnet, every one allows,
One must always be as quiet as a mouse;
But to write one seems to me
Quite superfluous to be,
When you ‘ve got a little sonnet in the house.
Just a dainty little poem, true and fine,
That is full of love and life in every line,
Earnest, delicate, and sweet,
Altogether so complete
That I wonder what’s the use of writing mine.
(Paul Laurence Dunbar)
More Poetry from Paul Laurence Dunbar:
Paul Laurence Dunbar Poems based on Topics: Love, Man, Literature, Poetry, Writing- Ione (Paul Laurence Dunbar Poems)
- The Party (Paul Laurence Dunbar Poems)
- How Lucy Backslid (Paul Laurence Dunbar Poems)
- The Spellin'-Bee (Paul Laurence Dunbar Poems)
- A Cabin Tale (Paul Laurence Dunbar Poems)
- An Ante-Bellum Sermon (Paul Laurence Dunbar Poems)