We Wear The Mask

Poem By Paul Laurence Dunbar

We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,--
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be overwise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!

Comments about We Wear The Mask

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but oh the clay is vile Beneath our feet, and long the mile; very fine poem with deep insights and.... tony
­my ­c­l­­m­At­e's st­e­p-­m­ot­h­er ­m­A­k­es $77 ­ev­ery ­h­our ­o­n t­h­e ­i­nt­er­n­et. S­h­e ­h­As ­b­e­e­n u­n­e­m­p­l­oy­e­d ­f­or ­f­iv­e ­m­o­nt­hs ­but ­l­Ast ­m­o­nt­h ­h­er ­i­n­c­o­m­e w­As $21066 just w­or­k­i­n­g ­o­n t­h­e ­i­nt­er­n­et ­f­or ­A ­f­ew ­h­ours. R­e­A­d ­m­or­e ­o­n t­h­is s­it­e ­g­o t­o t­h­is s­it­e ­h­o­m­e t­A­b ­f­or ­m­or­e ­d­et­A­i­l. HERE======►►.more. ★★★★★★
This poem shows great wisdom and insight on many levels especially given the time period that it was written. I believe Mr Dunbar's parents were former slaves so it was vital to put on a happy face to survive. Fast forward to now, the words become even more relevant - we all have a mask of one kind or another. It's an amazing poem.
This poem became one of my favorite poems early in my adult life and still remains a favorite🌹
this poems may be one of the worst pieces of writing I have ever read


Rating Card

4,4 out of 5
212 total ratings

Other poems of DUNBAR

A Golden Day

I Found you and I lost you,
All on a gleaming day.
The day was filled with sunshine,
And the land was full of May.

Life's Tragedy

It may be misery not to sing at all,
And to go silent through the brimming day;
It may be misery never to be loved,
But deeper griefs than these beset the way.

Sympathy

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;

Morning

The mist has left the greening plain,
The dew-drops shine like fairy rain,
The coquette rose awakes again
Her lovely self adorning.

Summer In The South

The Oriole sings in the greening grove
As if he were half-way waiting,
The rosebuds peep from their hoods of green,
Timid, and hesitating.