Page:Negro poets and their poems (IA negropoetstheirp00kerl).pdf/166

No syncopating “jazz” or “blues,”
Insults my eager listening ear,
But softly as the falling dews,
The strains come stealing sweet and clear.
With lilting grace they rise above
The early traffic’s sordid din—
My neighbor boy is making love
To his beloved violin.

Sometimes I catch a quivering note—
An over-burdened wordless cry.
I say: “Those are the lines he wrote
The day he told some one goodbye.”
But when I hear a joyous strain
Of melody serene and clear,
I smile and say: “All’s well again—
The little maiden must be near!”
But best of all I love the mood
That prompts a soft sweet minor key.
My longing soul forgets to brood,
While drinking in the melody.
My restless spirit will not rove,
Nor lose its faith in God and men,
The while my neighbor boy makes love
To his beloved violin.