James Weldon Johnson, ed. (1871–1938). The Book of American Negro Poetry. 1922.

La Vie C’est la Vie

ON summer afternoons I sit

Quiescent by you in the park,

And idly watch the sunbeams gild

And tint the ash-trees’ bark.

Or else I watch the squirrels frisk

And chaffer in the grassy lane;

And all the while I mark your voice

Breaking with love and pain.

I know a woman who would give

Her chance of heaven to take my place;

To see the love-light in your eyes,

The love-glow on your face!

And there’s a man whose lightest word

Can set my chilly blood afire;

Fulfilment of his least behest

Defines my life’s desire.

But he will none of me,

Nor I Of you. Nor you of her. ’Tis said

The world is full of jests like these.—

I wish that I were dead.