The Mystery
Paul Laurence Dunbar
I was not; now I am – a few days hence
I shall not be; I fain would look before
And after, but can neither do; some Power
Or lack of power says “no” to all I would.
I stand upon a wide and sunless plain,
Nor chart nor steel to guide my steps aright.
Whene’er, o’ercoming fear, I dare to move,
I grope without direction and by chance.
Some feign to hear a voice and feel a hand
That draws them ever upward thro’ the gloom.
But I – I hear no voice and touch no hand,
Tho’ oft thro’ silence infinite I list,
And strain my hearing to supernal sounds;
Tho’ oft thro’ fateful darkness do I reach,
And stretch my hand to find that other hand.
I question of th’ eternal bending skies?
That seem to neighbor with the novice earth;
But they roll on, and daily shut their eyes
On me, as I one day shall do on them,
And tell me not the secret that I ask.
About this poem
“The Mystery” was published in Dunbar’s book “Lyrics of Lowly Life” (The Century Company, 1895).
About Paul Laurence Dunbar
Paul Laurence Dunbar was born on June 27, 1872, in Dayton, Ohio. He was one of the first African-American poets in the U.S. to gain national recognition. His books of poetry include “Poems of Cabin and Field” (Dodd, Mead & Co.,1899) and “Lyrics of the Hearthside” (Dodd, Mead & Co., 1899). He died on Feb. 9, 1906.
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day@poets.org.
This poem is in the public domain. Distributed by King Features Syndicate.
