Paying Homage To Those Magnificently Talented But Lesser Known Poets
I have been thinking of starting this thread- to pay homage to those, Magnificently Talented But Lesser Known Poets...
Now after a 11 month delay, I finally start building the foundation, despite my very limited time available to venture into this.
So this thread will likely not be getting a daily contribution from me..--Tyr
Paying Homage To Those Magnificently Talented But Lesser Known Poets
Biography of Frank Lebby Stanton
Frank Lebby Stanton—born 1857 February 22 in Charleston, South Carolina, died 1927 January 7 in Atlanta, Georgia, and frequently credited as Frank L. Stanton, Frank Stanton or F. L. Stanton—was an American lyricist.
He was also the initial columnist for the Atlanta Constitution and became the first poet laureate of the State of Georgia, a post to which he was appointed by Governor Clifford Walker in 1925 and which Stanton held until his death.
Stanton has been frequently compared with Indiana's James Whitcomb Riley or called "the James Whitcomb Riley of the South"; Stanton and Riley were close friends who frequently traded poetic ideas. Although Stanton frequently wrote in the dialect of black southerners and poor whites, he was an opponent of the less-admirable aspects (such as lynching) of the culture in which he lived, and he tended to be compatible in philosophy with the southern progressivism of his employer, the Atlanta Constitution, for which he wrote editorials. He collaborated with African American composer Harry Thacker Burleigh in the sheet music for Stanton's poem "Jean" (Burleigh composed and harmonized the tune). These and other characteristics of Stanton are well elaborated in the scholarly essays on him by Francis J. Bosha and Bruce M. Swain.
Multi-voice-ranges 1901 cover of Ethelbert Nevin's tune for "Mighty Lak' a Rose" for which Stanton wrote the lyrics. The dialect title means (approximately) "very much like a rose" and is supposedly sung by a mother to her young son. The first line, by which the opus is occasionally known, is "Sweetest li'l feller" (sweetest little fellow).
Shortly after his death Stanton was commemorated in the naming of the Frank Lebby Stanton Elementary School, which, after the redesignation of a street name for its eponym still unborn at the time of Stanton's death, is at 1625 Martin Luther King Jr. Drive in Atlanta.
Poems by Frank Lebby Stanton
1. A Hopeful Brother 9/22/2010
2. A Little Thankful Song 9/22/2010
3. A Plantation Ditty 9/22/2010
4. A Poor Unfortunate 9/22/2010
5. Fellow Who Had Done His Best 9/22/2010
6. He Whistled 9/22/2010
7. Here's Hopin' 9/22/2010
8. One Country 9/22/2010
9. So Many! 9/22/2010
10. The Famous Mulligan Ball 9/22/2010
11. The Mocking-Bird 9/22/2010
12. We'Re Marchin' With The Country 9/22/2010
13. An Old Battle-Field 9/22/2010
14. This World 9/22/2010
15. Jest A-Wearyin' Fer You 9/22/2010
16. A Little Way 9/22/2010
17. Hoe Your Row 9/22/2010
18. A Song Of To-Morrow 9/22/2010
19. The Graveyard Rabbit 9/22/2010
20. Just Whistle 9/22/2010
21. Keep A-Goin'! 9/22/2010
Poems by Frank Lebby Stanton
The Mocking-Bird - Poem by Frank Lebby Stanton
He did n’t know much music
When first he come along;
An’ all the birds went wonderin’
Why he did n’t sing a song.
They primped their feathers in the sun,
An’ sung their sweetest notes;
An’ music jest come on the run
From all their purty throats!
But still that bird was silent
In summer time an’ fall;
He jest set still an’ listened,
An’ he would n’t sing at all!
But one night when them songsters
Was tired out an’ still,
An’ the wind sighed down the valley
An’ went creepin’ up the hill;
When the stars was all a-tremble
In the dreamin’ fields o’ blue,
An’ the daisy in the darkness
Felt the fallin’ o’ the dew,—
There come a sound o’ melody
No mortal ever heard,
An’ all the birds seemed singin’
From the throat o’ one sweet bird!
Then the other birds went Mayin’
In a land too fur to call;
Fer there warn ’t no use in stayin’
When one bird could sing fer all!
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Here's Hopin' - Poem by Frank Lebby Stanton
Year ain't been the very best;-
Purty hard by trouble pressed;
But the rough way leads to rest,-
Here's hopin'!
Maybe craps way short; the rills
Couldn't turn the silent mills;
But the light's behind the hills,-
Here's hopin'!
Where we planted roses sweet
Thorns come up an' pricked the feet;
But this old world's hard to beat,-
Here's hopin'!
P'r'aps the buildin' that we planned
'Gainst the cyclone couldn't stand;
But, thank God we've got the
land
,-
Here's hopin'!
Maybe flowers we hoped to save
Have been scattered on a grave;
But the heart's still beatin' brave,-
Here's hopin'!
That we'll see the mornin' light-
That the very darkest night
Can't hide heaven from our sight,-
Here's hopin'!
Frank Lebby Stanton
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Jest A-Wearyin' Fer You - Poem by Frank Lebby Stanton
JEST a-wearyin' fer you
All the time a-feelin' blue;
Wishin' fer you wonderin' when
You'll be comin' home again ;
Restless don't know what to do
Jest a-wearyin' fer you I
Keep a-mopin' day by day :
Dull in everybody's way;
Folks they smile an' pass along
Wonderin' what on earth is wrong;
'Twouldn't help 'em if they knew
Jest a-wearyin' fer you.
Room's so lonesome, with your chair
Empty by the fireplace there,
Jest can't stand the sight o' it!
Go outdoors an' roam a bit:
But the woods is lonesome, too,
Jest a-wearyin' fer you.
Comes the wind with sounds that' jes
Like the rustlin' o' your dress ;
An' the dew on flower an' tree
Tinkles like your step to me!
Violets, like your eyes so blue
Jest a-wearyin' fer you !
Mornin' comes, the birds awake
(Them that sung so fer your sake!),
But there's sadness in the notes
That come thrillin' from their throats!
Seem to feel your absence, too
Jest a-wearyin' fer you.
Evenin' comes: I miss you more
When the dark glooms in the door ;
'Pears jest like you orter be
There to open it fer me!
Latch goes tinklin' thrills me through,
Sets me wearyin' fer you!
Jest a-wearyin' fer you
All the time a-f eelin' blue !
Wishin' fer you wonderin' when
You'll be comin' home again;
Restless don't know 'what to do
Jest a-wearyin' fer you!
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The Graveyard Rabbit - Poem by Frank Lebby Stanton
In the white moonlight, where the willow waves,
He halfway gallops among the graves—
A tiny ghost in the gloom and gleam,
Content to dwell where the dead men dream,
But wary still!
For they plot him ill;
For the graveyard rabbit hath a charm
(May God defend us!) to shield from harm.
Over the shimmering slabs he goes—
Every grave in the dark he knows;
But his nest is hidden from human eye
Where headstones broken on old graves lie.
Wary still!
For they plot him ill;
For the graveyard rabbit, though sceptics scoff,
Charmeth the witch and the wizard off!
The black man creeps, when the night is dim,
Fearful, still, on the track of him;
Or fleetly follows the way he runs,
For he heals the hurts of the conjured ones.
Wary still!
For they plot him ill;
The soul’s bewitched that would find release,—
To the graveyard rabbit go for peace!
He holds their secret—he brings a boon
Where winds moan wild in the dark o’ the moon;
And gold shall glitter and love smile sweet
To whoever shall sever his furry feet!
Wary still!
For they plot him ill;
For the graveyard rabbit hath a charm
(May God defend us!) to shield from harm.
Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 09-30-2016 at 03:59 PM.
18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.
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