The Book of American Negro Poetry/'Weh Down Souf

by Daniel Webster Davis

Daniel Webster Davis

'WEH DOWN SOUF

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.

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