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• 1 2017-07-10T10:42:18-04:00 De Dog-Drivers' Frien' 1 Poem by Claude McKay Published in Daily Gleaner October 7 1911 plain 2017-07-10T10:42:18-04:00
  
  
  Stay your hasty hands, my comrades,
     I must speak to you again,
  For you beat de dog 'dout mussey,
     An' dey are we night time frien'.
  Treat dem kindly, treat dem kindly,
     For they are God's creatures, too:
  You have no more claim dear comrades, 
     On de earth than what dey do.
  
  'Cos you locked him up in barracks
     T'rough some fallin' point o' his,
  You must' beatin' him so badly
     For de little carelessness?
  Treat dem kindly, treat dem kindly,
     For they are God's creatures, too. 
  You have no more claim, dear comrades, 
     On de earth than what dey do. 
  
  When de hours are cold an' dreary,
     An' I'm posted on me beat,
  An' me tired heavy body
     Weighs upon me weary feet,
  Oftentimes dem come aroun' me
     Wid' dem free an' trustin' soul,
  Lyin' do'n or gambolling near me
     Wide a tender sort o' gro'l.:
  
  An' I snap my fingers at them,
     While dey wag dem tail at me;
  Can you wonder that I love them,
     Them, me night-time company?
  Treat dem kindly, treat dem kindly,
     For they are God's creatures, too;
  You have no more claim, dear comrades,
     On de earth than what dey do.
  
  Sometimes dey're a bit too noisy
     Wid deir long leave-taking bark;
  But I tell you what, it cheers me
     When de nights are extra dark.
  
  So dear comrades, don't illtreat him,
     You won't mek me talk in vain;
  'Member, when the hours are dreary,
     He's do poor dog-drivers' frien'.
  Treat dem kindly, treat dem kindly,
     For dey are God's creatures, too;
  You have no more claim, dear comrades,
     On de earth than what dey do.
  
   
• 1 2017-07-10T10:14:38-04:00 Agnes o' de Village Lane 1 Poem by Claude McKay Published in Daily Gleaner October 7 1911 plain 2017-07-10T10:14:38-04:00
  Fancy o' me childish will,
     Playin' now before me eyes,
  Sadly I remember still
  How much your love I prize',
  As I think o' you again,
  Agnes o' de village lane.
  
  In de school-room worn an' old
     Fus' I  saw your pretty smile, 
  Heard your footsteps firm an' bold,
     Loved your face so free o' guile,
  An' your soul so clear of stain,
  Agnes, Agnes o' de lane.
  
  Oh, I suffered much for you,
     For dey t'umped an' beat poor me
  Tell me skin tu'n black an' blue,
     Tryin' ef day could part we;
  But we closer grew we twain,
  Heartful Agnes o' de lane.
  
  Little love t'oughts o' me breast
     I wrote by tin lamp's light:
  P'raps dey were not of de best
     (Bunny showed me what to write),
  Yet you never would complain,
  Easy Agnes o' de lane.
  
  But dere came de partin' day,
     An' they took me from you, dear,
  An' de passion died away,
     But de memory was there:
  Long you've lingered in me brain,
  Plump-cheeked Agnes o' de lane. 
  
  A'ter many a weary year,
     Sad, sad news o' you I heard,
  News dat brought a scaldin' tear
     At de sound o' every word;
  An my mind, filled wid disdain,
  Grieved for Agnes o' de lane.
  
  Agnes o' de lane no more,
     for you went away, my pet,
  Agnes once so sweet an' pure,
     To a miserable deat';
  Oh, de 'membrance brings me pain,
  Fallen Agnes o' de lane!