The Bohemian

Poem By Paul Laurence Dunbar

Bring me the livery of no other man.
I am my own to robe me at my pleasure.
Accepted rules to me disclose no treasure:
What is the chief who shall my garments plan?
No garb conventional but I 'll attack it.
(Come, why not don my spangled jacket?)

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We wear the mask that grins and lies,
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It may be misery not to sing at all,
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I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
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The mist has left the greening plain,
The dew-drops shine like fairy rain,
The coquette rose awakes again
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The Oriole sings in the greening grove
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