O, de birds ar’ sweetly singin’,
’Weh down Souf,
An’ de banjer is a-ringin’,
’Weh down Souf;
An’ my heart it is a-sighin’,
Whil’ de moments am a-flyin’.
Fur my hom’ I am a-cryin’,
’Weh down Souf.
Dar de pickaninnies ’s playin’,
’Weh down Souf,
An’ fur dem I am a-prayin’,
’Weh down Souf;
An’ when I gits sum munny,
Yo’ kin bet I’m goin’, my hunny,
Fur de lan’ dat am so sunny,
’Weh down Souf.
Whil’ de win’ up here’s a-blowin’,
’Weh down Souf
De corn is sweetly growin’,
’Weh down Souf.
Dey tells me here ub freedum,
But I ain’t a-gwine to heed um,
But I’se gwine fur to lebe um.
Fur ’weh down Souf.
I bin up here a’-wuckin’,
From ’weh down Souf,
An’ I ain’t a bin a-shurkin’—
I’m frum ’weh down Souf;
But I’m gittin’ mighty werry,
An’ de days a-gittin’ drerry,
An’ I’m hongry, O, so berry,
Fur my hom’ down Souf.
O, de moon dar shines de brighter,
’Weh down Souf,
An’ I know my heart is lighter,
’Weh down Souf;
An’ de berry thought brings pledjur,
I’ll be happy dar ’dout medjur,
Fur dar I hab my tredjur,
’Weh down Souf.
From The Book of American Negro Poetry (Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1922), edited by James Weldon Johnson. This poem is in the public domain.