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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9567690 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64989 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64989) diff --git a/old/64989-0.txt b/old/64989-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0a4a5f9..0000000 --- a/old/64989-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2556 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Harlem Shadows, by Claude McKay - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Harlem Shadows - The Poems of Claude McKay - -Author: Claude McKay - -Contributor: Max Eastman - -Release Date: April 04, 2021 [eBook #64989] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARLEM SHADOWS *** - - - - - HARLEM SHADOWS - - THE POEMS OF - - CLAUDE McKAY - - WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY - - MAX EASTMAN - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY - - - COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY - HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC. - - - PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. BY - THE QUINN & BODEN COMPANY - RAHWAY, N. J. - - -A number of these poems appeared in the _Seven Arts_, _Pearson’s_, _The - Liberator_, _The Messenger_, and _The Cambridge Magazine_ (England). - - - - -CONTENTS - - - INTRODUCTION _ix_ - AUTHOR’S WORD _xix_ - THE EASTER FLOWER _3_ - TO ONE COMING NORTH _4_ - AMERICA _6_ - ALFONSO, DRESSING TO WAIT AT TABLE _7_ - THE TROPICS IN NEW YORK _8_ - FLAME HEART _9_ - HOME THOUGHTS _11_ - ON BROADWAY _12_ - THE BARRIER _13_ - ADOLESCENCE _14_ - HOMING SWALLOWS _15_ - THE CITY’S LOVE _16_ - NORTH AND SOUTH _17_ - WILD MAY _18_ - THE PLATEAU _19_ - AFTER THE WINTER _20_ - THE WILD GOAT _21_ - HARLEM SHADOWS _22_ - THE WHITE CITY _23_ - THE SPANISH NEEDLE _24_ - MY MOTHER _26_ - IN BONDAGE _28_ - DECEMBER, 1919 _29_ - HERITAGE _30_ - WHEN I HAVE PASSED AWAY _31_ - ENSLAVED _32_ - I SHALL RETURN _33_ - MORNING JOY _34_ - AFRICA _35_ - ON A PRIMITIVE CANOE _36_ - WINTER IN THE COUNTRY _37_ - TO WINTER _39_ - SPRING IN NEW HAMPSHIRE _40_ - ON THE ROAD _41_ - THE HARLEM DANCER _42_ - DAWN IN NEW YORK _43_ - THE TIRED WORKER _44_ - OUTCAST _45_ - I KNOW MY SOUL _46_ - BIRDS OF PREY _47_ - THE CASTAWAYS _48_ - EXHORTATION: SUMMER, 1919 _49_ - THE LYNCHING _51_ - BAPTISM _52_ - IF WE MUST DIE _53_ - SUBWAY WIND _54_ - THE NIGHT FIRE _55_ - POETRY _56_ - TO A POET _57_ - A PRAYER _58_ - WHEN DAWN COMES TO THE CITY _60_ - O WORD I LOVE TO SING _63_ - ABSENCE _64_ - SUMMER MORN IN NEW HAMPSHIRE _66_ - REST IN PEACE _67_ - A RED FLOWER _68_ - COURAGE _70_ - TO O. E. A. _71_ - ROMANCE _73_ - FLOWER OF LOVE _75_ - THE SNOW FAIRY _76_ - LA PALOMA IN LONDON _78_ - A MEMORY OF JUNE _79_ - FLIRTATION _81_ - TORMENTED _82_ - POLARITY _83_ - ONE YEAR AFTER _84_ - FRENCH LEAVE _86_ - JASMINES _88_ - COMMEMORATION _89_ - MEMORIAL _90_ - THIRST _92_ - FUTILITY _93_ - THROUGH AGONY _94_ - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -These poems have a special interest for all the races of man because -they are sung by a pure blooded Negro. They are the first significant -expression of that race in poetry. We tried faithfully to give a -position in our literature to Paul Laurence Dunbar. We have excessively -welcomed other black poets of minor talent, seeking in their music some -distinctive quality other than the fact that they wrote it. But here for -the first time we find our literature vividly enriched by a voice from -this most alien race among us. And it should be illuminating to observe -that while these poems are characteristic of that race as we most admire -it--they are gentle-simple, candid, brave and friendly, quick of -laughter and of tears--yet they are still more characteristic of what is -deep and universal in mankind. There is no special or exotic kind of -merit in them, no quality that demands a transmutation of our own -natures to perceive. Just as the sculptures and wood and ivory carvings -of the vast forgotten African Empires of Ifé and Benin, although so -wistful in their tranquillity, are tranquil in the possession of the -qualities of all classic and great art, so these poems, the purest of -them, move with a sovereignty that is never new to the lovers of the -high music of human utterance. - -It is the peculiarity of his experience, rather than of his nature, that -makes this poet’s race a fact to be remembered in the enjoyment of his -songs. The subject of all poetry is the experience of the poet, and no -man of any other race in the world can touch or imagine the experience -of the children of African slaves in America. - -Claude McKay was born in 1890 in a little thatched house of two rooms in -a beautiful valley of the hilly middle-country of Jamaica. He was born -to the genial, warm, patient, neighborly farmer’s life of that island. -It was a life rich in sun and sound and color and emotion, as we can see -in his poems which are forever homeward yearning--in the midst of their -present passion and strong will into the future, forever vividly -remembering. Like a blue-bird’s note in a March wind, those sudden clear -thoughts of the warm South ring out in the midst of his northern songs. -They carry a thrill into the depth of our hearts. Perhaps in some sense -they are thoughts of a mother. At least it seems inevitable that we -should find among them those two sacred sonnets of a child’s -bereavement. It seems inevitable that a wonderful poet should have had a -wise and beautiful mother. - -We can only distantly imagine how the happy tropic life of play and -affection, became shadowed and somber for this sensitive boy as he grew, -by a sense of the subjection of his people, and the memory of their -bondage to an alien race. Indeed the memory of Claude McKay’s family -goes back on his mother’s side beyond the days of bondage, to a time in -Madagascar when they were still free, and by the grace of God still -“savage.” He learned in early childhood the story of their violent -abduction, and how they were freighted over the seas in ships, and sold -at public auction in Jamaica. He learned another story, too, which must -have kindled a fire that slept in his blood--a story of the rebellion of -the members of his own family at the auction-block. A death-strike, we -should call it now--for they agreed that if they were divided and sold -away into different parts of the country they would all kill themselves. -And this fact solemnly announced in the market by the oldest -white-haired Negro among them, had such an effect upon prospective -buyers that it was impossible to sell them as individuals, and so they -were all taken away together to those hills at Clarendon which their -descendants still cultivate. With the blood of these rebels in his -veins, and their memory to stir it, we cannot wonder that Claude McKay’s -earliest boyish songs in the Jamaica dialect were full of heresy and the -militant love of freedom, and that his first poem of political -significance should have been a rally-call to the street-car men on -strike in Kingston. He found himself by an instinctive gravitation -singing in the forefront of the battle for human liberty. A wider -experience and a man’s comprehension of the science of history has only -strengthened his voice and his resolution. - -Those early songs and the music he composed for them, were very popular -in Jamaica. Claude McKay was quite the literary prince of the island for -a time--a kind of Robert Burns among his own people, as we can imagine, -with his physical beauty, his quick sympathy, and the magnetic wayward -humor of his ways. He received in 1912 the medal of the Institute of -Arts and Sciences in recognition of his preëminence. He was the first -Negro to receive this medal, and he was the first poet who ever made -songs in the quaint haunting dialect of the island. But nevertheless it -was not until he came to the United States that Claude McKay began to -confront the deepest feelings in his heart, and realize that a delicate -syllabic music could not alone express them. Here his imagination awoke, -and the colored imagery that is the language of all deep passion began -to appear in his poetry. Here too he conceived and felt the history and -position of his people with mature poetic force. He knew that his voice -belonged not only to his own moods and the general experience of -humanity, but to the hopes and sorrows of his race. - -A great many foolish things are said even by wise people upon the -subject of racial inferiority. They seem to think that if science could -establish a certain difference of average ability as between the whites -and blacks, that would justify them in placing the whole of one of -these races in a position of inferior esteem. The same fallacy is -committed in the discussions of sex-inferiority, and it is worth while -to make clear the perfect folly of it. If any defined quantitative -difference is ever established between the average abilities of such -groups, it will be a relatively slight one. The difficulty of -establishing it, is a proof of that. And a slight difference in the -general average would have no application whatever as between any two -individuals, or any minor groups of individuals. The enormous majority -of both races, as of both sexes, would show the same degree of ability. -And so great is the factor of individual variation that we could not -even be sure an example of the highest ability might not arise in the -group whose average was “inferior.” This simple consideration of fact -and good logic should suffice to silence those who think they can ever -appeal to science in support of a general race or sex prejudice. - -But in so far as the problem arises between a dominant and a subjected -race, it is impossible for science to say anything even as to averages. -For a fair general test is impossible. The children of the subjected -race never have a chance. To be deprived at the very dawn of selfhood of -a sense of possible superiority, is to be undernourished at the point of -chief educative importance. And to be assailed in early childhood with a -pervading intimation of inferiority is poison in the very centers of -growth. Except for people of the highest force of character, therefore, -to be born into a subjected race is to grow up inferior, not only to the -other race, but to one’s own potential self. We see an example of this -kind of growth in the bombastic locutions of the traditional “darkie” -who has acquired a little culture. Those great big words and long -sentences are the result of a feeling of inferiority. They are a -pathetic over-correction of the very quality of simple-heartedness which -is carried so high in these poems of Claude McKay. It is carried so -high, and made so boldly beautiful, that we can not withhold a tribute -to his will, as well as to his music and imagination. The naked force of -character that we feel in those two recent sonnets, “Baptism” and “The -White City,” is no mere verbal semblance. Its reality is certified by -the very achievement of such commanding art in the face of a -contemptuous or condescending civilization. - -Claude McKay came to the United States in 1912, having been offered an -education here by a friend in Jamaica who believed in his abilities. His -intention was to learn scientific farming, and return to the island to -offer practical wisdom as well as music to his people. He went at first -to one of our established philanthropic institutions for the training of -colored people. He stayed there a few months--long enough to weary of -the almost military system of discipline. And then he went to the -Agricultural College of Kansas, where he had learned that a free life -and a more elective system of education prevailed. He studied for two -years there, thinking continually less about farming and more about -literature, and gradually losing away altogether the idea of returning -to live in Jamaica. He left the college in 1914, knowing that he was a -poet--and imagining, I think, that he was a rather irresponsible and -wayward character--to cast in his lot with the working-class Negroes of -the north. Since then he has earned his living in every one of the ways -that the northern Negroes do, from “pot-wrestling” in a boarding-house -kitchen to dining-car service on the New York and Philadelphia Express. -But like all true poets, he failed to take the duty of “earning a -living” very seriously. It was a matter of collecting enough money from -each new job to quit for a while and live. And with each period of -living a new and a more sure and beautiful song would come out of him. - -The growth of beauty and sureness in these songs would be apparent if -they were arranged in the order of their creation. As it is, the reader -will observe occasional lapses of quality. One or two of the rhythms I -confess I am not able to apprehend at all. Perhaps they will be picked -up by receivers who are attuned to a different wave-length. But the -quality is here in them all--the pure, clear arrow-like transference of -his emotion into our breast, without any but the inevitable words--the -quality that reminds us of Burns and Villon and Catullus, and all the -poets that we call lyric because we love them so much. It is the quality -that Keats sought to cherish when he said that “Poetry should be great -and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into the soul, and does not -startle or amaze with itself but with its subject.” Poetry with this -quality is not for those whose interest is mainly in the manufacture of -poems. It will come rather to those whose interest is in the life of -things. It is the poetry of life, and not of the poet’s chamber. It is -the poetry that looks upon a thing, and sings. It is possessed by a -feeling and sings. May it find its way a little quietly and softly, in -this age of roar and advertising, to the hearts that love a true and -unaffected song. - - MAX EASTMAN. - - - - -AUTHOR’S WORD - - -In putting ideas and feelings into poetry, I have tried in each case to -use the medium most adaptable to the specific purpose. I own allegiance -to no master. I have never found it possible to accept in entirety any -one poet. But I have loved and joyed in what I consider the finest in -the poets of all ages. - -The speech of my childhood and early youth was the Jamaica Negro -dialect, the native variant of English, which still preserves a few -words of African origin, and which is more difficult of understanding -than the American Negro dialect. But the language we wrote and read in -school was England’s English. Our text books then, before the advent of -the American and Jamaican readers and our teachers, too, were all -English-made. The native teachers of the elementary schools were tutored -by men and women of British import. I quite remember making up verses in -the dialect and in English for our moonlight ring dances and for our -school parties. Of our purely native songs the jammas (field and road), -shay-shays (yard and booth), wakes (post-mortem), Anancy tales -(transplanted African folk lore), and revivals (religious) are all -singularly punctuated by meter and rhyme. And nearly all my own poetic -thought has always run naturally into these regular forms. - -Consequently, although very conscious of the new criticisms and trends -in poetry, to which I am keenly responsive and receptive, I have adhered -to such of the older traditions as I find adequate for my most lawless -and revolutionary passions and moods. I have not used patterns, images -and words that would stamp me a classicist nor a modernist. My intellect -is not scientific enough to range me on the side of either; nor is my -knowledge wide enough for me to specialize in any school. - -I have never studied poetics; but the forms I have used I am convinced -are the ones I can work in with the highest degree of spontaneity and -freedom. - -I have chosen my melodies and rhythms by instinct, and I have favored -words and figures which flow smoothly and harmoniously into my -compositions. And in all my moods I have striven to achieve directness, -truthfulness and naturalness of expression instead of an enameled -originality. I have not hesitated to use words which are old, and in -some circles considered poetically overworked and dead, when I thought I -could make them glow alive by new manipulation. Nor have I stinted my -senses of the pleasure of using the decorative metaphor where it is more -truly and vividly beautiful than the exact phrase. But for me there is -more quiet delight in “The golden moon of heaven” than in “The -terra-cotta disc of cloud-land.” - -Finally, while I have welcomed criticism, friendly and unfriendly, and -listened with willing attention to many varying opinions concerning -other poems and my own, I have always, in the summing up, fallen back on -my own ear and taste as the arbiter. - - CLAUDE MCKAY. - - - - - HARLEM SHADOWS - - - - - THE EASTER FLOWER - - - Far from this foreign Easter damp and chilly - My soul steals to a pear-shaped plot of ground, - Where gleamed the lilac-tinted Easter lily - Soft-scented in the air for yards around; - - Alone, without a hint of guardian leaf! - Just like a fragile bell of silver rime, - It burst the tomb for freedom sweet and brief - In the young pregnant year at Eastertime; - - And many thought it was a sacred sign, - And some called it the resurrection flower; - And I, a pagan, worshiped at its shrine, - Yielding my heart unto its perfumed power. - - - - - TO ONE COMING NORTH - - - At first you’ll joy to see the playful snow, - Like white moths trembling on the tropic air, - Or waters of the hills that softly flow - Gracefully falling down a shining stair. - - And when the fields and streets are covered white - And the wind-worried void is chilly, raw, - Or underneath a spell of heat and light - The cheerless frozen spots begin to thaw, - - Like me you’ll long for home, where birds’ glad song - Means flowering lanes and leas and spaces dry, - And tender thoughts and feelings fine and strong, - Beneath a vivid silver-flecked blue sky. - - But oh! more than the changeless southern isles, - When Spring has shed upon the earth her charm, - You’ll love the Northland wreathed in golden smiles - By the miraculous sun turned glad and warm. - - - - - AMERICA - - - Although she feeds me bread of bitterness, - And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth, - Stealing my breath of life, I will confess - I love this cultured hell that tests my youth! - Her vigor flows like tides into my blood, - Giving me strength erect against her hate. - Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood. - Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state, - I stand within her walls with not a shred - Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer. - Darkly I gaze into the days ahead, - And see her might and granite wonders there, - Beneath the touch of Time’s unerring hand, - Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand. - - - - - ALFONSO, DRESSING TO WAIT AT TABLE - - - Alfonso is a handsome bronze-hued lad - Of subtly-changing and surprising parts; - His moods are storms that frighten and make glad, - His eyes were made to capture women’s hearts. - - Down in the glory-hole Alfonso sings - An olden song of wine and clinking glasses - And riotous rakes; magnificently flings - Gay kisses to imaginary lasses. - - Alfonso’s voice of mellow music thrills - Our swaying forms and steals our hearts with joy; - And when he soars, his fine falsetto trills - Are rarest notes of gold without alloy. - - But, O Alfonso! wherefore do you sing - Dream-songs of carefree men and ancient places? - Soon we shall be beset by clamouring - Of hungry and importunate palefaces. - - - - - THE TROPICS IN NEW YORK - - - Bananas ripe and green, and ginger-root, - Cocoa in pods and alligator pears, - And tangerines and mangoes and grape fruit, - Fit for the highest prize at parish fairs, - - Set in the window, bringing memories - Of fruit-trees laden by low-singing rills, - And dewy dawns, and mystical blue skies - In benediction over nun-like hills. - - My eyes grew dim, and I could no more gaze; - A wave of longing through my body swept, - And, hungry for the old, familiar ways, - I turned aside and bowed my head and wept. - - - - - FLAME-HEART - - - So much have I forgotten in ten years, - So much in ten brief years! I have forgot - What time the purple apples come to juice, - And what month brings the shy forget-me-not. - I have forgot the special, startling season - Of the pimento’s flowering and fruiting; - What time of year the ground doves brown the fields - And fill the noonday with their curious fluting. - I have forgotten much, but still remember - The poinsettia’s red, blood-red in warm December. - - I still recall the honey-fever grass, - But cannot recollect the high days when - We rooted them out of the ping-wing path - To stop the mad bees in the rabbit pen. - I often try to think in what sweet month - The languid painted ladies used to dapple - The yellow by-road mazing from the main, - Sweet with the golden threads of the rose-apple. - I have forgotten--strange--but quite remember - The poinsettia’s red, blood-red in warm December. - - What weeks, what months, what time of the mild year - We cheated school to have our fling at tops? - What days our wine-thrilled bodies pulsed with joy - Feasting upon blackberries in the copse? - Oh some I know! I have embalmed the days, - Even the sacred moments when we played, - All innocent of passion, uncorrupt, - At noon and evening in the flame-heart’s shade. - We were so happy, happy, I remember, - Beneath the poinsettia’s red in warm December. - - - - - HOME THOUGHTS - - - Oh something just now must be happening there! - That suddenly and quiveringly here, - Amid the city’s noises, I must think - Of mangoes leaning o’er the river’s brink, - And dexterous Davie climbing high above, - The gold fruits ebon-speckled to remove, - And toss them quickly in the tangled mass - Of wis-wis twisted round the guinea grass; - And Cyril coming through the bramble-track - A prize bunch of bananas on his back; - And Georgie--none could ever dive like him-- - Throwing his scanty clothes off for a swim; - And schoolboys, from Bridge-tunnel going home, - Watching the waters downward dash and foam. - This is no daytime dream, there’s something in it, - Oh something’s happening there this very minute! - - - - - ON BROADWAY - - - About me young and careless feet - Linger along the garish street; - Above, a hundred shouting signs - Shed down their bright fantastic glow - Upon the merry crowd and lines - Of moving carriages below. - Oh wonderful is Broadway--only - My heart, my heart is lonely. - - Desire naked, linked with Passion, - Goes strutting by in brazen fashion; - From playhouse, cabaret and inn - The rainbow lights of Broadway blaze - All gay without, all glad within; - As in a dream I stand and gaze - At Broadway, shining Broadway--only - My heart, my heart is lonely. - - - - - THE BARRIER - - - I must not gaze at them although - Your eyes are dawning day; - I must not watch you as you go - Your sun-illumined way; - - I hear but I must never heed - The fascinating note, - Which, fluting like a river reed, - Comes from your trembling throat; - - I must not see upon your face - Love’s softly glowing spark; - For there’s the barrier of race, - You’re fair and I am dark. - - - - - ADOLESCENCE - - - There was a time when in late afternoon - The four-o’clocks would fold up at day’s close - Pink-white in prayer, and ’neath the floating moon - I lay with them in calm and sweet repose. - - And in the open spaces I could sleep, - Half-naked to the shining worlds above; - Peace came with sleep and sleep was long and deep, - Gained without effort, sweet like early love. - - But now no balm--nor drug nor weed nor wine-- - Can bring true rest to cool my body’s fever, - Nor sweeten in my mouth the acid brine, - That salts my choicest drink and will forever. - - - - - HOMING SWALLOWS - - - Swift swallows sailing from the Spanish main, - O rain-birds racing merrily away - From hill-tops parched with heat and sultry plain - Of wilting plants and fainting flowers, say-- - - When at the noon-hour from the chapel school - The children dash and scamper down the dale, - Scornful of teacher’s rod and binding rule - Forever broken and without avail, - - Do they still stop beneath the giant tree - To gather locusts in their childish greed, - And chuckle when they break the pods to see - The golden powder clustered round the seed? - - - - - THE CITY’S LOVE - - - For one brief golden moment rare like wine, - The gracious city swept across the line; - Oblivious of the color of my skin, - Forgetting that I was an alien guest, - She bent to me, my hostile heart to win, - Caught me in passion to her pillowy breast; - The great, proud city, seized with a strange love, - Bowed down for one flame hour my pride to prove. - - - - - NORTH AND SOUTH - - - O sweet are tropic lands for waking dreams! - There time and life move lazily along. - There by the banks of blue-and-silver streams - Grass-sheltered crickets chirp incessant song, - Gay-colored lizards loll all through the day, - Their tongues outstretched for careless little flies, - And swarthy children in the fields at play, - Look upward laughing at the smiling skies. - A breath of idleness is in the air - That casts a subtle spell upon all things, - And love and mating-time are everywhere, - And wonder to life’s commonplaces clings. - The fluttering humming-bird darts through the trees - And dips his long beak in the big bell-flowers, - The leisured buzzard floats upon the breeze, - Riding a crescent cloud for endless hours, - The sea beats softly on the emerald strands-- - O sweet for quiet dreams are tropic lands! - - - - - WILD MAY - - - Aleta mentions in her tender letters, - Among a chain of quaint and touching things, - That you are feeble, weighted down with fetters, - And given to strange deeds and mutterings. - No longer without trace or thought of fear, - Do you leap to and ride the rebel roan; - But have become the victim of grim care, - With three brown beauties to support alone. - But none the less will you be in my mind, - Wild May that cantered by the risky ways, - With showy head-cloth flirting in the wind, - From market in the glad December days; - Wild May of whom even other girls could rave - Before sex tamed your spirit, made you slave. - - - - - THE PLATEAU - - - It was the silver, heart-enveloping view - Of the mysterious sea-line far away, - Seen only on a gleaming gold-white day, - That made it dear and beautiful to you. - - And Laura loved it for the little hill, - Where the quartz sparkled fire, barren and dun, - Whence in the shadow of the dying sun, - She contemplated Hallow’s wooden mill. - - While Danny liked the sheltering high grass, - In which he lay upon a clear dry night, - To hear and see, screened skilfully from sight, - The happy lovers of the valley pass. - - But oh! I loved it for the big round moon - That swung out of the clouds and swooned aloft, - Burning with passion, gloriously soft, - Lighting the purple flowers of fragrant June. - - - - - AFTER THE WINTER - - - Some day, when trees have shed their leaves - And against the morning’s white - The shivering birds beneath the eaves - Have sheltered for the night, - We’ll turn our faces southward, love, - Toward the summer isle - Where bamboos spire to shafted grove - And wide-mouthed orchids smile. - - And we will seek the quiet hill - Where towers the cotton tree, - And leaps the laughing crystal rill, - And works the droning bee. - And we will build a cottage there - Beside an open glade, - With black-ribbed blue-bells blowing near, - And ferns that never fade. - - - - - THE WILD GOAT - - - O you would clothe me in silken frocks - And house me from the cold, - And bind with bright bands my glossy locks, - And buy me chains of gold; - - And give me--meekly to do my will-- - The hapless sons of men:-- - But the wild goat bounding on the barren hill - Droops in the grassy pen. - - - - - HARLEM SHADOWS - - - I hear the halting footsteps of a lass - In Negro Harlem when the night lets fall - Its veil. I see the shapes of girls who pass - To bend and barter at desire’s call. - Ah, little dark girls who in slippered feet - Go prowling through the night from street to street! - - Through the long night until the silver break - Of day the little gray feet know no rest; - Through the lone night until the last snow-flake - Has dropped from heaven upon the earth’s white breast, - The dusky, half-clad girls of tired feet - Are trudging, thinly shod, from street to street. - - Ah, stern harsh world, that in the wretched way - Of poverty, dishonor and disgrace, - Has pushed the timid little feet of clay, - The sacred brown feet of my fallen race! - Ah, heart of me, the weary, weary feet - In Harlem wandering from street to street. - - - - - THE WHITE CITY - - - I will not toy with it nor bend an inch. - Deep in the secret chambers of my heart - I muse my life-long hate, and without flinch - I bear it nobly as I live my part. - My being would be a skeleton, a shell, - If this dark Passion that fills my every mood, - And makes my heaven in the white world’s hell, - Did not forever feed me vital blood. - I see the mighty city through a mist-- - The strident trains that speed the goaded mass, - The poles and spires and towers vapor-kissed, - The fortressed port through which the great ships pass, - The tides, the wharves, the dens I contemplate, - Are sweet like wanton loves because I hate. - - - - - THE SPANISH NEEDLE - - - Lovely dainty Spanish needle - With your yellow flower and white, - Dew bedecked and softly sleeping, - Do you think of me to-night? - - Shadowed by the spreading mango, - Nodding o’er the rippling stream, - Tell me, dear plant of my childhood, - Do you of the exile dream? - - Do you see me by the brook’s side - Catching crayfish ’neath the stone, - As you did the day you whispered: - Leave the harmless dears alone? - - Do you see me in the meadow - Coming from the woodland spring - With a bamboo on my shoulder - And a pail slung from a string? - - Do you see me all expectant - Lying in an orange grove, - While the swee-swees sing above me, - Waiting for my elf-eyed love? - - Lovely dainty Spanish needle, - Source to me of sweet delight, - In your far-off sunny southland - Do you dream of me to-night? - - - - - MY MOTHER - - - I - - Reg wished me to go with him to the field, - I paused because I did not want to go; - But in her quiet way she made me yield - Reluctantly, for she was breathing low. - Her hand she slowly lifted from her lap - And, smiling sadly in the old sweet way, - She pointed to the nail where hung my cap. - Her eyes said: I shall last another day. - But scarcely had we reached the distant place, - When o’er the hills we heard a faint bell ringing; - A boy came running up with frightened face; - We knew the fatal news that he was bringing. - I heard him listlessly, without a moan, - Although the only one I loved was gone. - - - II - - The dawn departs, the morning is begun, - The trades come whispering from off the seas, - The fields of corn are golden in the sun, - The dark-brown tassels fluttering in the breeze; - The bell is sounding and the children pass, - Frog-leaping, skipping, shouting, laughing shrill, - Down the red road, over the pasture-grass, - Up to the school-house crumbling on the hill. - The older folk are at their peaceful toil, - Some pulling up the weeds, some plucking corn, - And others breaking up the sun-baked soil. - Float, faintly-scented breeze, at early morn - Over the earth where mortals sow and reap-- - Beneath its breast my mother lies asleep. - - - - - IN BONDAGE - - - I would be wandering in distant fields - Where man, and bird, and beast, lives leisurely, - And the old earth is kind, and ever yields - Her goodly gifts to all her children free; - Where life is fairer, lighter, less demanding, - And boys and girls have time and space for play - Before they come to years of understanding-- - Somewhere I would be singing, far away. - For life is greater than the thousand wars - Men wage for it in their insatiate lust, - And will remain like the eternal stars, - When all that shines to-day is drift and dust - But I am bound with you in your mean graves, - O black men, simple slaves of ruthless slaves. - - - - - DECEMBER, 1919 - - - Last night I heard your voice, mother, - The words you sang to me - When I, a little barefoot boy, - Knelt down against your knee. - - And tears gushed from my heart, mother, - And passed beyond its wall, - But though the fountain reached my throat - The drops refused to fall. - - ’Tis ten years since you died, mother, - Just ten dark years of pain, - And oh, I only wish that I - Could weep just once again. - - - - - HERITAGE - - - Now the dead past seems vividly alive, - And in this shining moment I can trace, - Down through the vista of the vanished years, - Your faun-like form, your fond elusive face. - - And suddenly some secret spring’s released, - And unawares a riddle is revealed, - And I can read like large, black-lettered print, - What seemed before a thing forever sealed. - - I know the magic word, the graceful thought, - The song that fills me in my lucid hours, - The spirit’s wine that thrills my body through, - And makes me music-drunk, are yours, all yours. - - I cannot praise, for you have passed from praise, - I have no tinted thoughts to paint you true; - But I can feel and I can write the word; - The best of me is but the least of you. - - - - - WHEN I HAVE PASSED AWAY - - - When I have passed away and am forgotten, - And no one living can recall my face, - When under alien sod my bones lie rotten - With not a tree or stone to mark the place; - - Perchance a pensive youth, with passion burning, - For olden verse that smacks of love and wine, - The musty pages of old volumes turning, - May light upon a little song of mine, - - And he may softly hum the tune and wonder - Who wrote the verses in the long ago; - Or he may sit him down awhile to ponder - Upon the simple words that touch him so. - - - - - ENSLAVED - - - Oh when I think of my long-suffering race, - For weary centuries despised, oppressed, - Enslaved and lynched, denied a human place - In the great life line of the Christian West; - And in the Black Land disinherited, - Robbed in the ancient country of its birth, - My heart grows sick with hate, becomes as lead, - For this my race that has no home on earth. - Then from the dark depths of my soul I cry - To the avenging angel to consume - The white man’s world of wonders utterly: - Let it be swallowed up in earth’s vast womb, - Or upward roll as sacrificial smoke - To liberate my people from its yoke! - - - - - I SHALL RETURN - - - I shall return again; I shall return - To laugh and love and watch with wonder-eyes - At golden noon the forest fires burn, - Wafting their blue-black smoke to sapphire skies. - I shall return to loiter by the streams - That bathe the brown blades of the bending grasses, - And realize once more my thousand dreams - Of waters rushing down the mountain passes. - I shall return to hear the fiddle and fife - Of village dances, dear delicious tunes - That stir the hidden depths of native life, - Stray melodies of dim remembered runes. - I shall return, I shall return again, - To ease my mind of long, long years of pain. - - - - - MORNING JOY - - - At night the wide and level stretch of wold, - Which at high noon had basked in quiet gold, - Far as the eye could see was ghostly white; - Dark was the night save for the snow’s weird light. - - I drew the shades far down, crept into bed; - Hearing the cold wind moaning overhead - Through the sad pines, my soul, catching its pain, - Went sorrowing with it across the plain. - - At dawn, behold! the pall of night was gone, - Save where a few shrubs melancholy, lone, - Detained a fragile shadow. Golden-lipped - The laughing grasses heaven’s sweet wine sipped. - - The sun rose smiling o’er the river’s breast, - And my soul, by his happy spirit blest, - Soared like a bird to greet him in the sky, - And drew out of his heart Eternity. - - - - - AFRICA - - - The sun sought thy dim bed and brought forth light, - The sciences were sucklings at thy breast; - When all the world was young in pregnant night - Thy slaves toiled at thy monumental best. - Thou ancient treasure-land, thou modern prize, - New peoples marvel at thy pyramids! - The years roll on, thy sphinx of riddle eyes - Watches the mad world with immobile lids. - The Hebrews humbled them at Pharaoh’s name. - Cradle of Power! Yet all things were in vain! - Honor and Glory, Arrogance and Fame! - They went. The darkness swallowed thee again. - Thou art the harlot, now thy time is done, - Of all the mighty nations of the sun. - - - - - ON A PRIMITIVE CANOE - - - Here, passing lonely down this quiet lane, - Before a mud-splashed window long I pause - To gaze and gaze, while through my active brain - Still thoughts are stirred to wakefulness; because - Long, long ago in a dim unknown land, - A massive forest-tree, ax-felled, adze-hewn, - Was deftly done by cunning mortal hand - Into a symbol of the tender moon. - Why does it thrill more than the handsome boat - That bore me o’er the wild Atlantic ways, - And fill me with rare sense of things remote - From this harsh life of fretful nights and days? - I cannot answer but, whate’er it be, - An old wine has intoxicated me. - - - - - WINTER IN THE COUNTRY - - - Sweet life! how lovely to be here - And feel the soft sea-laden breeze - Strike my flushed face, the spruce’s fair - Free limbs to see, the lesser trees’ - - Bare hands to touch, the sparrow’s cheep - To heed, and watch his nimble flight - Above the short brown grass asleep. - Love glorious in his friendly might, - - Music that every heart could bless, - And thoughts of life serene, divine, - Beyond my power to express, - Crowd round this lifted heart of mine! - - But oh! to leave this paradise - For the city’s dirty basement room, - Where, beauty hidden from the eyes, - A table, bed, bureau and broom - - In corner set, two crippled chairs - All covered up with dust and grim - With hideousness and scars of years, - And gaslight burning weird and dim, - - Will welcome me.... And yet, and yet - This very wind, the winter birds, - The glory of the soft sunset, - Come there to me in words. - - - - - TO WINTER - - - Stay, season of calm love and soulful snows! - There is a subtle sweetness in the sun, - The ripples on the stream’s breast gaily run, - The wind more boisterously by me blows, - And each succeeding day now longer grows. - The birds a gladder music have begun, - The squirrel, full of mischief and of fun, - From maples’ topmost branch the brown twig throws. - I read these pregnant signs, know what they mean: - I know that thou art making ready to go. - Oh stay! I fled a land where fields are green - Always, and palms wave gently to and fro, - And winds are balmy, blue brooks ever sheen, - To ease my heart of its impassioned woe. - - - - - SPRING IN NEW HAMPSHIRE - -(_To J. L. J. F. E._) - - - Too green the springing April grass, - Too blue the silver-speckled sky, - For me to linger here, alas, - While happy winds go laughing by, - Wasting the golden hours indoors, - Washing windows and scrubbing floors. - - Too wonderful the April night, - Too faintly sweet the first May flowers, - The stars too gloriously bright, - For me to spend the evening hours, - When fields are fresh and streams are leaping, - Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping. - - - - - ON THE ROAD - - - Roar of the rushing train fearfully rocking, - Impatient people jammed in line for food, - The rasping noise of cars together knocking, - And worried waiters, some in ugly mood, - Crowding into the choking pantry hole - To call out dishes for each angry glutton - Exasperated grown beyond control, - From waiting for his soup or fish or mutton. - At last the station’s reached, the engine stops; - For bags and wraps the red-caps circle round; - From off the step the passenger lightly hops, - And seeks his cab or tram-car homeward bound; - The waiters pass out weary, listless, glum, - To spend their tips on harlots, cards and rum. - - - - - THE HARLEM DANCER - - - Applauding youths laughed with young prostitutes - And watched her perfect, half-clothed body sway; - Her voice was like the sound of blended flutes - Blown by black players upon a picnic day. - She sang and danced on gracefully and calm, - The light gauze hanging loose about her form; - To me she seemed a proudly-swaying palm - Grown lovelier for passing through a storm. - Upon her swarthy neck black shiny curls - Luxuriant fell; and tossing coins in praise, - The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls, - Devoured her shape with eager, passionate gaze; - But looking at her falsely-smiling face, - I knew her self was not in that strange place. - - - - - DAWN IN NEW YORK - - - The Dawn! The Dawn! The crimson-tinted, comes - Out of the low still skies, over the hills, - Manhattan’s roofs and spires and cheerless domes! - The Dawn! My spirit to its spirit thrills. - Almost the mighty city is asleep, - No pushing crowd, no tramping, tramping feet. - But here and there a few cars groaning creep - Along, above, and underneath the street, - Bearing their strangely-ghostly burdens by, - The women and the men of garish nights, - Their eyes wine-weakened and their clothes awry, - Grotesques beneath the strong electric lights. - The shadows wane. The Dawn comes to New York. - And I go darkly-rebel to my work. - - - - - THE TIRED WORKER - - - O whisper, O my soul! The afternoon - Is waning into evening, whisper soft! - Peace, O my rebel heart! for soon the moon - From out its misty veil will swing aloft! - Be patient, weary body, soon the night - Will wrap thee gently in her sable sheet, - And with a leaden sigh thou wilt invite - To rest thy tired hands and aching feet. - The wretched day was theirs, the night is mine; - Come tender sleep, and fold me to thy breast. - But what steals out the gray clouds red like wine? - O dawn! O dreaded dawn! O let me rest - Weary my veins, my brain, my life! Have pity! - No! Once again the harsh, the ugly city. - - - - - OUTCAST - - - For the dim regions whence my fathers came - My spirit, bondaged by the body, longs. - Words felt, but never heard, my lips would frame; - My soul would sing forgotten jungle songs. - I would go back to darkness and to peace, - But the great western world holds me in fee, - And I may never hope for full release - While to its alien gods I bend my knee. - Something in me is lost, forever lost, - Some vital thing has gone out of my heart, - And I must walk the way of life a ghost - Among the sons of earth, a thing apart; - For I was born, far from my native clime, - Under the white man’s menace, out of time. - - - - - I KNOW MY SOUL - - - I plucked my soul out of its secret place, - And held it to the mirror of my eye, - To see it like a star against the sky, - A twitching body quivering in space, - A spark of passion shining on my face. - And I explored it to determine why - This awful key to my infinity - Conspires to rob me of sweet joy and grace. - And if the sign may not be fully read, - If I can comprehend but not control, - I need not gloom my days with futile dread, - Because I see a part and not the whole. - Contemplating the strange, I’m comforted - By this narcotic thought: I know my soul. - - - - - BIRDS OF PREY - - - Their shadow dims the sunshine of our day, - As they go lumbering across the sky, - Squawking in joy of feeling safe on high, - Beating their heavy wings of owlish gray. - They scare the singing birds of earth away - As, greed-impelled, they circle threateningly, - Watching the toilers with malignant eye, - From their exclusive haven--birds of prey. - They swoop down for the spoil in certain might, - And fasten in our bleeding flesh their claws. - They beat us to surrender weak with fright, - And tugging and tearing without let or pause, - They flap their hideous wings in grim delight, - And stuff our gory hearts into their maws. - - - - - THE CASTAWAYS - - - The vivid grass with visible delight - Springing triumphant from the pregnant earth, - The butterflies, and sparrows in brief flight - Chirping and dancing for the season’s birth, - The dandelions and rare daffodils - That touch the deep-stirred heart with hands of gold, - The thrushes sending forth their joyous trills,-- - Not these, not these did I at first behold! - But seated on the benches daubed with green, - The castaways of life, a few asleep, - Some withered women desolate and mean, - And over all, life’s shadows dark and deep. - Moaning I turned away, for misery - I have the strength to bear but not to see. - - - - - EXHORTATION: SUMMER, 1919 - - - Through the pregnant universe rumbles life’s terrific thunder, - And Earth’s bowels quake with terror; strange and terrible storms break, - Lightning-torches flame the heavens, kindling souls of men, thereunder: - Africa! long ages sleeping, O my motherland, awake! - - In the East the clouds glow crimson with the new dawn that is breaking, - And its golden glory fills the western skies. - O my brothers and my sisters, wake! arise! - For the new birth rends the old earth and the very dead are waking, - Ghosts are turned flesh, throwing off the grave’s disguise, - And the foolish, even children, are made wise; - For the big earth groans in travail for the strong, new world in making-- - O my brothers, dreaming for dim centuries, - Wake from sleeping; to the East turn, turn your eyes! - - Oh the night is sweet for sleeping, but the shining day’s for working; - Sons of the seductive night, for your children’s children’s sake, - From the deep primeval forests where the crouching leopard’s lurking, - Lift your heavy-lidded eyes, Ethiopia! awake! - - In the East the clouds glow crimson with the new dawn that is breaking, - And its golden glory fills the western skies. - O my brothers and my sisters, wake! arise! - For the new birth rends the old earth and the very dead are waking, - Ghosts are turned flesh, throwing off the grave’s disguise, - And the foolish, even children, are made wise; - For the big earth groans in travail for the strong, new world in making-- - O my brothers, dreaming for long centuries, - Wake from sleeping; to the East turn, turn your eyes! - - - - - THE LYNCHING - - - His Spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven. - His father, by the cruelest way of pain, - Had bidden him to his bosom once again; - The awful sin remained still unforgiven. - All night a bright and solitary star - (Perchance the one that ever guided him, - Yet gave him up at last to Fate’s wild whim) - Hung pitifully o’er the swinging char. - Day dawned, and soon the mixed crowds came to view - The ghastly body swaying in the sun - The women thronged to look, but never a one - Showed sorrow in her eyes of steely blue; - And little lads, lynchers that were to be, - Danced round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee. - - - - - BAPTISM - - - Into the furnace let me go alone; - Stay you without in terror of the heat. - I will go naked in--for thus ’tis sweet-- - Into the weird depths of the hottest zone. - I will not quiver in the frailest bone, - You will not note a flicker of defeat; - My heart shall tremble not its fate to meet, - My mouth give utterance to any moan. - The yawning oven spits forth fiery spears; - Red aspish tongues shout wordlessly my name. - Desire destroys, consumes my mortal fears, - Transforming me into a shape of flame. - I will come out, back to your world of tears, - A stronger soul within a finer frame. - - - - - IF WE MUST DIE - - - If we must die, let it not be like hogs - Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, - While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs, - Making their mock at our accursèd lot. - If we must die, O let us nobly die, - So that our precious blood may not be shed - In vain; then even the monsters we defy - Shall be constrained to honor us though dead! - O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe! - Though far outnumbered let us show us brave, - And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow! - What though before us lies the open grave? - Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack, - Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back! - - - - - SUBWAY WIND - - - Far down, down through the city’s great, gaunt gut - The gray train rushing bears the weary wind; - In the packed cars the fans the crowd’s breath cut, - Leaving the sick and heavy air behind. - And pale-cheeked children seek the upper door - To give their summer jackets to the breeze; - Their laugh is swallowed in the deafening roar - Of captive wind that moans for fields and seas; - Seas cooling warm where native schooners drift - Through sleepy waters, while gulls wheel and sweep, - Waiting for windy waves the keels to lift - Lightly among the islands of the deep; - Islands of lofty palm trees blooming white - That lend their perfume to the tropic sea, - Where fields lie idle in the dew drenched night, - And the Trades float above them fresh and free. - - - - - THE NIGHT FIRE - - - No engines shrieking rescue storm the night, - And hose and hydrant cannot here avail; - The flames laugh high and fling their challenging light, - And clouds turn gray and black from silver-pale. - The fire leaps out and licks the ancient walls, - And the big building bends and twists and groans. - A bar drops from its place; a rafter falls - Burning the flowers. The wind in frenzy moans. - The watchers gaze, held wondering by the fire, - The dwellers cry their sorrow to the crowd, - The flames beyond themselves rise higher, higher, - To lose their glory in the frowning cloud, - Yielding at length the last reluctant breath. - And where life lay asleep broods darkly death. - - - - - POETRY - - - Sometimes I tremble like a storm-swept flower, - And seek to hide my tortured soul from thee. - Bowing my head in deep humility - Before the silent thunder of thy power. - Sometimes I flee before thy blazing light, - As from the specter of pursuing death; - Intimidated lest thy mighty breath, - Windways, will sweep me into utter night. - For oh, I fear they will be swallowed up-- - The loves which are to me of vital worth, - My passion and my pleasure in the earth-- - And lost forever in thy magic cup! - I fear, I fear my truly human heart - Will perish on the altar-stone of art! - - - - - TO A POET - - - There is a lovely noise about your name, - Above the shoutings of the city clear, - More than a moment’s merriment, whose claim - Will greater grow with every mellowed year. - - The people will not bear you down the street, - Dancing to the strong rhythm of your words, - The modern kings will throttle you to greet - The piping voice of artificial birds. - - But the rare lonely spirits, even mine, - Who love the immortal music of all days, - Will see the glory of your trailing line, - The bedded beauty of your haunting lays. - - - - - A PRAYER - - - ’Mid the discordant noises of the day I hear thee calling; - I stumble as I fare along Earth’s way; keep me from falling. - - Mine eyes are open but they cannot see for gloom of night; - I can no more than lift my heart to thee for inward light. - - The wild and fiery passion of my youth consumes my soul; - In agony I turn to thee for truth and self-control. - - For Passion and all the pleasures it can give will die the death; - But this of me eternally must live, thy borrowed breath. - - ’Mid the discordant noises of the day I hear thee calling; - I stumble as I fare along Earth’s way; keep me from falling. - - - - - WHEN DAWN COMES TO THE CITY - - - The tired cars go grumbling by, - The moaning, groaning cars, - And the old milk carts go rumbling by - Under the same dull stars. - Out of the tenements, cold as stone, - Dark figures start for work; - I watch them sadly shuffle on, - ’Tis dawn, dawn in New York. - - But I would be on the island of the sea, - In the heart of the island of the sea, - Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing, - And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree, - Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing - Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn, - And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing, - And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying, - And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling - From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea - That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling - Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously! - There, oh there! on the island of the sea, - There I would be at dawn. - - The tired cars go grumbling by, - The crazy, lazy cars, - And the same milk carts go rumbling by - Under the dying stars. - A lonely newsboy hurries by, - Humming a recent ditty; - Red streaks strike through the gray of the sky, - The dawn comes to the city. - - But I would be on the island of the sea, - In the heart of the island of the sea, - Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing, - And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree, - Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing - Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn, - And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing, - And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying, - And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling - From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea - That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling - Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously! - There, oh there! on the island of the sea, - There I would be at dawn. - - - - - O WORD I LOVE TO SING - - - O word I love to sing! thou art too tender - For all the passions agitating me; - For all my bitterness thou art too tender, - I cannot pour my red soul into thee. - - O haunting melody! thou art too slender, - Too fragile like a globe of crystal glass; - For all my stormy thoughts thou art too slender, - The burden from my bosom will not pass. - - O tender word! O melody so slender! - O tears of passion saturate with brine, - O words, unwilling words, ye can not render - My hatred for the foe of me and mine. - - - - - ABSENCE - - - Your words dropped into my heart like pebbles into a pool, - Rippling around my breast and leaving it melting cool. - - Your kisses fell sharp on my flesh like dawn-dews from the limb, - Of a fruit-filled lemon tree when the day is young and dim. - - Like soft rain-christened sunshine, as fragile as rare gold lace, - Your breath, sweet-scented and warm, has kindled my tranquil face. - - But a silence vasty-deep, oh deeper than all these ties - Now, through the menacing miles, brooding between us lies. - - And more than the songs I sing, I await your written word, - To stir my fluent blood as never your presence stirred. - - - - - SUMMER MORN IN NEW HAMPSHIRE - - - All yesterday it poured, and all night long - I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat - Upon the shingled roof like a weird song, - Upon the grass like running children’s feet. - And down the mountains by the dark cloud kissed, - Like a strange shape in filmy veiling dressed, - Slid slowly, silently, the wraith-like mist, - And nestled soft against the earth’s wet breast. - - But lo, there was a miracle at dawn! - The still air stirred at touch of the faint breeze, - The sun a sheet of gold bequeathed the lawn, - The songsters twittered in the rustling trees. - And all things were transfigured in the day, - But me whom radiant beauty could not move; - For you, more wonderful, were far away, - And I was blind with hunger for your love. - - - - - REST IN PEACE - - - No more for you the city’s thorny ways, - The ugly corners of the Negro belt; - The miseries and pains of these harsh days - By you will never, never again be felt. - - No more, if still you wander, will you meet - With nights of unabating bitterness; - They cannot reach you in your safe retreat, - The city’s hate, the city’s prejudice! - - ’Twas sudden--but your menial task is done, - The dawn now breaks on you, the dark is over, - The sea is crossed, the longed-for port is won; - Farewell, oh, fare you well! my friend and lover. - - - - - A RED FLOWER - - - Your lips are like a southern lily red, - Wet with the soft rain-kisses of the night, - In which the brown bee buries deep its head, - When still the dawn’s a silver sea of light. - - Your lips betray the secret of your soul, - The dark delicious essence that is you, - A mystery of life, the flaming goal - I seek through mazy pathways strange and new. - - Your lips are the red symbol of a dream. - What visions of warm lilies they impart, - That line the green bank of a fair blue stream, - With butterflies and bees close to each heart! - - Brown bees that murmur sounds of music rare, - That softly fall upon the languorous breeze, - Wafting them gently on the quiet air - Among untended avenues of trees. - - O were I hovering, a bee, to probe - Deep down within your scented heart, fair flower, - Enfolded by your soft vermilion robe, - Amorous of sweets, for but one perfect hour! - - - - - COURAGE - - - O lonely heart so timid of approach, - Like the shy tropic flower that shuts its lips - To the faint touch of tender finger tips: - What is your word? What question would you broach? - - Your lustrous-warm eyes are too sadly kind - To mask the meaning of your dreamy tale, - Your guarded life too exquisitely frail - Against the daggers of my warring mind. - - There is no part of the unyielding earth, - Even bare rocks where the eagles build their nest, - Will give us undisturbed and friendly rest. - No dewfall softens this vast belt of dearth. - - But in the socket-chiseled teeth of strife, - That gleam in serried files in all the lands, - We may join hungry, understanding hands, - And drink our share of ardent love and life. - - - - - TO O.E.A. - - - Your voice is the color of a robin’s breast, - And there’s a sweet sob in it like rain--still rain in the night. - Among the leaves of the trumpet-tree, close to his nest, - The pea-dove sings, and each note thrills me with strange delight - Like the words, wet with music, that well from your trembling throat. - I’m afraid of your eyes, they’re so bold, - Searching me through, reading my thoughts, shining like gold. - But sometimes they are gentle and soft like the dew on - the lips of the eucharis - Before the sun comes warm with his lover’s kiss. - You are sea-foam, pure with the star’s loveliness, - Not mortal, a flower, a fairy, too fair for the beauty-shorn earth. - All wonderful things, all beautiful things, gave of their - wealth to your birth. - Oh I love you so much, not recking of passion, that I feel it is wrong! - But men will love you, flower, fairy, non-mortal spirit - burdened with flesh, - Forever, life-long. - - - - - ROMANCE - - - To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed, - Scented and warm against my beating breast; - - To whisper soft and quivering your name, - And drink the passion burning in your frame; - - To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek, - And tease your mouth with kisses till you speak - - Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words, - Melodious like notes of mating birds; - - To hear you ask if I shall love always, - And myself answer: Till the end of days; - - To feel your easeful sigh of happiness - When on your trembling lips I murmur: Yes; - - It is so sweet. We know it is not true. - What matters it? The night must shed her dew. - - We know it is not true, but it is sweet-- - The poem with this music is complete. - - - - - FLOWER OF LOVE - - - The perfume of your body dulls my sense. - I want nor wine nor weed; your breath alone - Suffices. In this moment rare and tense - I worship at your breast. The flower is blown, - The saffron petals tempt my amorous mouth, - The yellow heart is radiant now with dew - Soft-scented, redolent of my loved South; - O flower of love! I give myself to you. - Uncovered on your couch of figured green, - Here let us linger indivisible. - The portals of your sanctuary unseen - Receive my offering, yielding unto me. - Oh, with our love the night is warm and deep! - The air is sweet, my flower, and sweet the flute - Whose music lulls our burning brain to sleep, - While we lie loving, passionate and mute. - - - - - THE SNOW FAIRY - - - I - - Throughout the afternoon I watched them there, - Snow-fairies falling, falling from the sky, - Whirling fantastic in the misty air, - Contending fierce for space supremacy. - And they flew down a mightier force at night, - As though in heaven there was revolt and riot, - And they, frail things had taken panic flight - Down to the calm earth seeking peace and quiet. - I went to bed and rose at early dawn - To see them huddled together in a heap, - Each merged into the other upon the lawn, - Worn out by the sharp struggle, fast asleep. - The sun shone brightly on them half the day, - By night they stealthily had stol’n away. - - - II - - And suddenly my thoughts then turned to you - Who came to me upon a winter’s night, - When snow-sprites round my attic window flew, - Your hair disheveled, eyes aglow with light. - My heart was like the weather when you came, - The wanton winds were blowing loud and long; - But you, with joy and passion all aflame, - You danced and sang a lilting summer song. - I made room for you in my little bed, - Took covers from the closet fresh and warm, - A downful pillow for your scented head, - And lay down with you resting in my arm. - You went with Dawn. You left me ere the day, - The lonely actor of a dreamy play. - - - - - LA PALOMA IN LONDON - - - About Soho we went before the light; - We went, unresting six, craving new fun, - New scenes, new raptures, for the fevered night - Of rollicking laughter, drink and song, was done. - The vault was void, but for the dawn’s great star - That shed upon our path its silver flame, - When La Paloma on a low guitar - Abruptly from a darkened casement came-- - Harlem! All else shut out, I saw the hall, - And you in your red shoulder sash come dancing - With Val against me languid by the wall, - Your burning coffee-colored eyes keen glancing - Aslant at mine, proud in your golden glory! - I loved you, Cuban girl, fond sweet Diory. - - - - - A MEMORY OF JUNE - - - When June comes dancing o’er the death of May, - With scarlet roses tinting her green breast, - And mating thrushes ushering in her day, - And Earth on tiptoe for her golden guest, - - I always see the evening when we met-- - The first of June baptized in tender rain-- - And walked home through the wide streets, gleaming wet, - Arms locked, our warm flesh pulsing with love’s pain. - - I always see the cheerful little room, - And in the corner, fresh and white, the bed, - Sweet scented with a delicate perfume, - Wherein for one night only we were wed; - - Where in the starlit stillness we lay mute, - And heard the whispering showers all night long, - And your brown burning body was a lute - Whereon my passion played his fevered song. - - When June comes dancing o’er the death of May, - With scarlet roses staining her fair feet, - My soul takes leave of me to sing all day - A love so fugitive and so complete. - - - - - FLIRTATION - - - Upon thy purple mat thy body bare - Is fine and limber like a tender tree. - The motion of thy supple form is rare, - Like a lithe panther lolling languidly, - Toying and turning slowly in her lair. - Oh, I would never ask for more of thee, - Thou art so clean in passion and so fair. - Enough! if thou wilt ask no more of me! - - - - - TORMENTED - - - I will not reason, wrestle here with you, - Though you pursue and worry me about; - As well put forth my swarthy arm to stop - The wild wind howling, darkly mad without. - - The night is yours for revels; day will light. - I will not fight you, bold and tigerish, - For I am weak, while you are gaining strength; - Peace! cease tormenting me to have your wish. - - But when you’re filled and sated with the flesh, - I shall go swiftly to the silver stream, - To cleanse my body for the spirit’s sake, - And sun my limbs, and close my eyes to dream. - - - - - POLARITY - - - Nay, why reproach each other, be unkind, - For there’s no plane on which we two may meet? - Let’s both forgive, forget, for both were blind, - And life is of a day, and time is fleet. - - And I am fire, swift to flame and burn, - Melting with elements high overhead, - While you are water in an earthly urn, - All pure, but heavy, and of hue like lead. - - - - - ONE YEAR AFTER - - - I - - Not once in all our days of poignant love, - Did I a single instant give to thee - My undivided being wholly free. - Not all thy potent passion could remove - The barrier that loomed between to prove - The full supreme surrendering of me. - Oh, I was beaten, helpless utterly - Against the shadow-fact with which I strove. - For when a cruel power forced me to face - The truth which poisoned our illicit wine, - That even I was faithless to my race - Bleeding beneath the iron hand of thine, - Our union seemed a monstrous thing and base! - I was an outcast from thy world and mine. - - - II - - Adventure-seasoned and storm-buffeted, - I shun all signs of anchorage, because - The zest of life exceeds the bound of laws. - New gales of tropic fury round my head - Break lashing me through hours of soulful dread; - But when the terror thins and, spent, withdraws, - Leaving me wondering awhile, I pause-- - But soon again the risky ways I tread! - No rigid road for me, no peace, no rest, - While molten elements run through my blood; - And beauty-burning bodies manifest - Their warm, heart-melting motions to be wooed; - And passion boldly rising in my breast, - Like rivers of the Spring, lets loose its flood. - - - - - FRENCH LEAVE - - - No servile little fear shall daunt my will - This morning. I have courage steeled to say - I will be lazy, conqueringly still, - I will not lose the hours in toil this day. - - The roaring world without, careless of souls, - Shall leave me to my placid dream of rest, - My four walls shield me from its shouting ghouls, - And all its hates have fled my quiet breast. - - And I will loll here resting, wide awake, - Dead to the world of work, the world of love, - I laze contented just for dreaming’s sake - With not the slightest urge to think or move. - - How tired unto death, how tired I was! - Now for a day I put my burdens by, - And like a child amidst the meadow grass - Under the southern sun, I languid lie - - And feel the bed about me kindly deep, - My strength ooze gently from my hollow bones, - My worried brain drift aimlessly to sleep, - Like softening to a song of tuneful tones. - - - - - JASMINES - - - Your scent is in the room. - Swiftly it overwhelms and conquers me! - Jasmines, night jasmines, perfect of perfume, - Heavy with dew before the dawn of day! - Your face was in the mirror. I could see - You smile and vanish suddenly away, - Leaving behind the vestige of a tear. - Sad suffering face, from parting grown so dear! - Night jasmines cannot bloom in this cold place; - Without the street is wet and weird with snow; - The cold nude trees are tossing to and fro; - Too stormy is the night for your fond face; - For your low voice too loud the wind’s mad roar. - But oh, your scent is here--jasmines that grow - Luxuriant, clustered round your cottage door! - - - - - COMMEMORATION - - - When first your glory shone upon my face - My body kindled to a mighty flame, - And burnt you yielding in my hot embrace - Until you swooned to love, breathing my name. - - And wonder came and filled our night of sleep, - Like a new comet crimsoning the sky; - And stillness like the stillness of the deep - Suspended lay as an unuttered sigh. - - I never again shall feel your warm heart flushed, - Panting with passion, naked unto mine, - Until the throbbing world around is hushed - To quiet worship at our scented shrine. - - Nor will your glory seek my swarthy face, - To kindle and to change my jaded frame - Into a miracle of godlike grace, - Transfigured, bathed in your immortal flame. - - - - - MEMORIAL - - - Your body was a sacred cell always, - A jewel that grew dull in garish light, - An opal which beneath my wondering gaze - Gleamed rarely, softly throbbing in the night. - - I touched your flesh with reverential hands, - For you were sweet and timid like a flower - That blossoms out of barren tropic sands, - Shedding its perfume in one golden hour. - - You yielded to my touch with gentle grace, - And though my passion was a mighty wave - That buried you beneath its strong embrace, - You were yet happy in the moment’s grave. - - Still more than passion consummate to me, - More than the nuptials immemorial sung, - Was the warm thrill that melted me to see - Your clean brown body, beautiful and young; - - The joy in your maturity at length, - The peace that filled my soul like cooling wine, - When you responded to my tender strength, - And pressed your heart exulting into mine. - - How shall I with such memories of you - In coarser forms of love fruition find? - No, I would rather like a ghost pursue - The fairy phantoms of my lonely mind. - - - - - THIRST - - - My spirit wails for water, water now! - My tongue is aching dry, my throat is hot - For water, fresh rain shaken from a bough, - Or dawn dews heavy in some leafy spot. - My hungry body’s burning for a swim - In sunlit water where the air is cool, - As in Trout Valley where upon a limb - The golden finch sings sweetly to the pool. - Oh water, water, when the night is done, - When day steals gray-white through the windowpane, - Clear silver water when I wake, alone, - All impotent of parts, of fevered brain; - Pure water from a forest fountain first, - To wash me, cleanse me, and to quench my thirst! - - - - - FUTILITY - - - Oh, I have tried to laugh the pain away, - Let new flames brush my love-springs like a feather. - But the old fever seizes me to-day, - As sickness grips a soul in wretched weather. - I have given up myself to every urge, - With not a care of precious powers spent, - Have bared my body to the strangest scourge, - To soothe and deaden my heart’s unhealing rent. - But you have torn a nerve out of my frame, - A gut that no physician can replace, - And reft my life of happiness and aim. - Oh what new purpose shall I now embrace? - What substance hold, what lovely form pursue, - When my thought burns through everything to you? - - - - - THROUGH AGONY - - - I - - All night, through the eternity of night, - Pain was my portion though I could not feel. - Deep in my humbled heart you ground your heel, - Till I was reft of even my inner light, - Till reason from my mind had taken flight, - And all my world went whirling in a reel. - And all my swarthy strength turned cold like steel, - A passive mass beneath your puny might. - Last night I gave you triumph over me, - So I should be myself as once before, - I marveled at your shallow mystery, - And haunted hungrily your temple door. - I gave you sum and substance to be free, - Oh, you shall never triumph any more! - - - II - - I do not fear to face the fact and say, - How darkly-dull my living hours have grown, - My wounded heart sinks heavier than stone, - Because I loved you longer than a day! - I do not shame to turn myself away - From beckoning flowers beautifully blown, - To mourn your vivid memory alone - In mountain fastnesses austerely gray. - The mists will shroud me on the utter height, - The salty, brimming waters of my breast - Will mingle with the fresh dews of the night - To bathe my spirit hankering to rest. - But after sleep I’ll wake with greater might, - Once more to venture on the eternal quest. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARLEM SHADOWS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<table style='min-width:0; padding:0; margin-left:0; border-collapse:collapse'> - <tr><td>Title:</td><td>Harlem Shadows</td></tr> - <tr><td></td><td>The Poems of Claude McKay</td></tr> -</table> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Claude McKay</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Contributor: Max Eastman</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: April 04, 2021 [eBook #64989]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARLEM SHADOWS ***</div> -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="c"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_i" id="page_i">{i}</a></span> </p> - -<h1>HARLEM SHADOWS</h1> - -<p class="cb"><big><span class="spc">THE -POEMS -OF</span><br /><br /> -CLAUDE McKAY</big><br /><br /><br /> -WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY<br /><br /> -MAX EASTMAN<br /><br /><br /> -NEW YORK<br /> -HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ii" id="page_ii">{ii}</a></span> -<br /><small> -COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY<br /> -HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC.<br /><br /> -PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. BY<br /> -THE QUINN & BODEN COMPANY<br /> -RAHWAY, N. J.</small> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iii" id="page_iii">{iii}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">A number of these poems appeared in the <i>Seven Arts</i>, <i>Pearson’s</i>, <i>The -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iv" id="page_iv">{iv}</a></span>Liberator</i>, <i>The Messenger</i>, and <i>The Cambridge Magazine</i> (England).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_v" id="page_v">{v}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style=" -margin:1em auto;font-weight:bold;"> -<tr><td><a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a> <a href="#page_ix"><i>ix</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#AUTHORS_WORD">AUTHOR’S WORD </a> <a href="#page_xix"><i>xix</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THE_EASTER_FLOWER">THE EASTER FLOWER </a> <a href="#page_3"><i>3</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#TO_ONE_COMING_NORTH">TO ONE COMING NORTH </a> <a href="#page_4"><i>4</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#AMERICA">AMERICA </a> <a href="#page_6"><i>6</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#ALFONSO_DRESSING_TO_WAIT_AT_TABLE">ALFONSO, DRESSING TO WAIT AT TABLE </a> <a href="#page_7"><i>7</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THE_TROPICS_IN_NEW_YORK">THE TROPICS IN NEW YORK </a> <a href="#page_8"><i>8</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#FLAME-HEART">FLAME HEART </a> <a href="#page_9"><i>9</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#HOME_THOUGHTS">HOME THOUGHTS </a> <a href="#page_11"><i>11</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#ON_BROADWAY">ON BROADWAY </a> <a href="#page_12"><i>12</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THE_BARRIER">THE BARRIER </a> <a href="#page_13"><i>13</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#ADOLESCENCE">ADOLESCENCE </a> <a href="#page_14"><i>14</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#HOMING_SWALLOWS">HOMING SWALLOWS </a> <a href="#page_15"><i>15</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THE_CITYS_LOVE">THE CITY’S LOVE </a> <a href="#page_16"><i>16</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#NORTH_AND_SOUTH">NORTH AND SOUTH </a> <a href="#page_17"><i>17</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#WILD_MAY">WILD MAY </a> <a href="#page_18"><i>18</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THE_PLATEAU">THE PLATEAU </a> <a href="#page_19"><i>19</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#AFTER_THE_WINTER">AFTER THE WINTER </a> <a href="#page_20"><i>20</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THE_WILD_GOAT">THE WILD GOAT </a> <a href="#page_21"><i>21</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#HARLEM_SHADOWS">HARLEM SHADOWS </a> <a href="#page_22"><i>22</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THE_WHITE_CITY">THE WHITE CITY </a> <a href="#page_23"><i>23</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THE_SPANISH_NEEDLE">THE SPANISH NEEDLE </a> <a href="#page_24"><i>24</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#MY_MOTHER">MY MOTHER </a> <a href="#page_26"><i>26</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#IN_BONDAGE">IN BONDAGE </a> <a href="#page_28"><i>28</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#DECEMBER_1919">DECEMBER, 1919 </a> <a href="#page_29"><i>29</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#HERITAGE">HERITAGE </a> <a href="#page_30"><i>30</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#WHEN_I_HAVE_PASSED_AWAY">WHEN I HAVE PASSED AWAY </a> <a href="#page_31"><i>31</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vi" id="page_vi">{vi}</a></span> -<a href="#ENSLAVED">ENSLAVED </a> <a href="#page_32"><i>32</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#I_SHALL_RETURN">I SHALL RETURN </a> <a href="#page_33"><i>33</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#MORNING_JOY">MORNING JOY </a> <a href="#page_34"><i>34</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#AFRICA">AFRICA </a> <a href="#page_35"><i>35</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#ON_A_PRIMITIVE_CANOE">ON A PRIMITIVE CANOE </a> <a href="#page_36"><i>36</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#WINTER_IN_THE_COUNTRY">WINTER IN THE COUNTRY </a> <a href="#page_37"><i>37</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#TO_WINTER">TO WINTER </a> <a href="#page_39"><i>39</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#SPRING_IN_NEW_HAMPSHIRE">SPRING IN NEW HAMPSHIRE </a> <a href="#page_40"><i>40</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#ON_THE_ROAD">ON THE ROAD </a> <a href="#page_41"><i>41</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THE_HARLEM_DANCER">THE HARLEM DANCER </a> <a href="#page_42"><i>42</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#DAWN_IN_NEW_YORK">DAWN IN NEW YORK </a> <a href="#page_43"><i>43</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THE_TIRED_WORKER">THE TIRED WORKER </a> <a href="#page_44"><i>44</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#OUTCAST">OUTCAST </a> <a href="#page_45"><i>45</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#I_KNOW_MY_SOUL">I KNOW MY SOUL </a> <a href="#page_46"><i>46</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#BIRDS_OF_PREY">BIRDS OF PREY </a> <a href="#page_47"><i>47</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THE_CASTAWAYS">THE CASTAWAYS </a> <a href="#page_48"><i>48</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#EXHORTATION_SUMMER_1919">EXHORTATION: SUMMER, 1919 </a> <a href="#page_49"><i>49</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THE_LYNCHING">THE LYNCHING </a> <a href="#page_51"><i>51</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#BAPTISM">BAPTISM </a> <a href="#page_52"><i>52</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#IF_WE_MUST_DIE">IF WE MUST DIE </a> <a href="#page_53"><i>53</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#SUBWAY_WIND">SUBWAY WIND </a> <a href="#page_54"><i>54</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THE_NIGHT_FIRE">THE NIGHT FIRE </a> <a href="#page_55"><i>55</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#POETRY">POETRY </a> <a href="#page_56"><i>56</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#TO_A_POET">TO A POET </a> <a href="#page_57"><i>57</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#A_PRAYER">A PRAYER </a> <a href="#page_58"><i>58</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#WHEN_DAWN_COMES_TO_THE_CITY">WHEN DAWN COMES TO THE CITY </a> <a href="#page_60"><i>60</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#O_WORD_I_LOVE_TO_SING">O WORD I LOVE TO SING </a> <a href="#page_63"><i>63</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#ABSENCE">ABSENCE </a> <a href="#page_64"><i>64</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#SUMMER_MORN_IN_NEW_HAMPSHIRE">SUMMER MORN IN NEW HAMPSHIRE </a> <a href="#page_66"><i>66</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#REST_IN_PEACE">REST IN PEACE </a> <a href="#page_67"><i>67</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#A_RED_FLOWER">A RED FLOWER </a> <a href="#page_68"><i>68</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#COURAGE">COURAGE </a> <a href="#page_70"><i>70</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vii" id="page_vii">{vii}</a></span> -<a href="#TO_OEA">TO O. E. A. </a> <a href="#page_71"><i>71</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#ROMANCE">ROMANCE </a> <a href="#page_73"><i>73</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#FLOWER_OF_LOVE">FLOWER OF LOVE </a> <a href="#page_75"><i>75</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THE_SNOW_FAIRY">THE SNOW FAIRY </a> <a href="#page_76"><i>76</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#LA_PALOMA_IN_LONDON">LA PALOMA IN LONDON </a> <a href="#page_78"><i>78</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#A_MEMORY_OF_JUNE">A MEMORY OF JUNE </a> <a href="#page_79"><i>79</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#FLIRTATION">FLIRTATION </a> <a href="#page_81"><i>81</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#TORMENTED">TORMENTED </a> <a href="#page_82"><i>82</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#POLARITY">POLARITY </a> <a href="#page_83"><i>83</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#ONE_YEAR_AFTER">ONE YEAR AFTER </a> <a href="#page_84"><i>84</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#FRENCH_LEAVE">FRENCH LEAVE </a> <a href="#page_86"><i>86</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#JASMINES">JASMINES </a> <a href="#page_88"><i>88</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#COMMEMORATION">COMMEMORATION </a> <a href="#page_89"><i>89</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#MEMORIAL">MEMORIAL </a> <a href="#page_90"><i>90</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THIRST">THIRST </a> <a href="#page_92"><i>92</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#FUTILITY">FUTILITY </a> <a href="#page_93"><i>93</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td><a href="#THROUGH_AGONY">THROUGH AGONY </a> <a href="#page_94"><i>94</i></a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_viii" id="page_viii">{viii}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ix" id="page_ix">{ix}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> - -<p>These poems have a special interest for all the races of man because -they are sung by a pure blooded Negro. They are the first significant -expression of that race in poetry. We tried faithfully to give a -position in our literature to Paul Laurence Dunbar. We have excessively -welcomed other black poets of minor talent, seeking in their music some -distinctive quality other than the fact that they wrote it. But here for -the first time we find our literature vividly enriched by a voice from -this most alien race among us. And it should be illuminating to observe -that while these poems are characteristic of that race as we most admire -it—they are gentle-simple, candid, brave and friendly, quick of -laughter and of tears—yet they are still more characteristic of what is -deep and universal in mankind. There is no special or exotic kind of -merit in them, no quality that demands a transmutation of our own -natures to perceive. Just as the sculptures and wood and ivory carvings -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_x" id="page_x">{x}</a></span> the vast forgotten African Empires of Ifé and Benin, although so -wistful in their tranquillity, are tranquil in the possession of the -qualities of all classic and great art, so these poems, the purest of -them, move with a sovereignty that is never new to the lovers of the -high music of human utterance.</p> - -<p>It is the peculiarity of his experience, rather than of his nature, that -makes this poet’s race a fact to be remembered in the enjoyment of his -songs. The subject of all poetry is the experience of the poet, and no -man of any other race in the world can touch or imagine the experience -of the children of African slaves in America.</p> - -<p>Claude McKay was born in 1890 in a little thatched house of two rooms in -a beautiful valley of the hilly middle-country of Jamaica. He was born -to the genial, warm, patient, neighborly farmer’s life of that island. -It was a life rich in sun and sound and color and emotion, as we can see -in his poems which are forever homeward yearning—in the midst of their -present passion and strong will into the future, forever vividly -remembering. Like a blue-bird’s note in a March wind, those sudden clear -thoughts of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xi" id="page_xi">{xi}</a></span> the warm South ring out in the midst of his northern songs. -They carry a thrill into the depth of our hearts. Perhaps in some sense -they are thoughts of a mother. At least it seems inevitable that we -should find among them those two sacred sonnets of a child’s -bereavement. It seems inevitable that a wonderful poet should have had a -wise and beautiful mother.</p> - -<p>We can only distantly imagine how the happy tropic life of play and -affection, became shadowed and somber for this sensitive boy as he grew, -by a sense of the subjection of his people, and the memory of their -bondage to an alien race. Indeed the memory of Claude McKay’s family -goes back on his mother’s side beyond the days of bondage, to a time in -Madagascar when they were still free, and by the grace of God still -“savage.” He learned in early childhood the story of their violent -abduction, and how they were freighted over the seas in ships, and sold -at public auction in Jamaica. He learned another story, too, which must -have kindled a fire that slept in his blood—a story of the rebellion of -the members of his own family at the auction-block. A death-strike, we -should call it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xii" id="page_xii">{xii}</a></span> now—for they agreed that if they were divided and sold -away into different parts of the country they would all kill themselves. -And this fact solemnly announced in the market by the oldest -white-haired Negro among them, had such an effect upon prospective -buyers that it was impossible to sell them as individuals, and so they -were all taken away together to those hills at Clarendon which their -descendants still cultivate. With the blood of these rebels in his -veins, and their memory to stir it, we cannot wonder that Claude McKay’s -earliest boyish songs in the Jamaica dialect were full of heresy and the -militant love of freedom, and that his first poem of political -significance should have been a rally-call to the street-car men on -strike in Kingston. He found himself by an instinctive gravitation -singing in the forefront of the battle for human liberty. A wider -experience and a man’s comprehension of the science of history has only -strengthened his voice and his resolution.</p> - -<p>Those early songs and the music he composed for them, were very popular -in Jamaica. Claude McKay was quite the literary prince of the island for -a time—a kind of Robert Burns among his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xiii" id="page_xiii">{xiii}</a></span> own people, as we can imagine, -with his physical beauty, his quick sympathy, and the magnetic wayward -humor of his ways. He received in 1912 the medal of the Institute of -Arts and Sciences in recognition of his preëminence. He was the first -Negro to receive this medal, and he was the first poet who ever made -songs in the quaint haunting dialect of the island. But nevertheless it -was not until he came to the United States that Claude McKay began to -confront the deepest feelings in his heart, and realize that a delicate -syllabic music could not alone express them. Here his imagination awoke, -and the colored imagery that is the language of all deep passion began -to appear in his poetry. Here too he conceived and felt the history and -position of his people with mature poetic force. He knew that his voice -belonged not only to his own moods and the general experience of -humanity, but to the hopes and sorrows of his race.</p> - -<p>A great many foolish things are said even by wise people upon the -subject of racial inferiority. They seem to think that if science could -establish a certain difference of average ability as between the whites -and blacks, that would<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xiv" id="page_xiv">{xiv}</a></span> justify them in placing the whole of one of -these races in a position of inferior esteem. The same fallacy is -committed in the discussions of sex-inferiority, and it is worth while -to make clear the perfect folly of it. If any defined quantitative -difference is ever established between the average abilities of such -groups, it will be a relatively slight one. The difficulty of -establishing it, is a proof of that. And a slight difference in the -general average would have no application whatever as between any two -individuals, or any minor groups of individuals. The enormous majority -of both races, as of both sexes, would show the same degree of ability. -And so great is the factor of individual variation that we could not -even be sure an example of the highest ability might not arise in the -group whose average was “inferior.” This simple consideration of fact -and good logic should suffice to silence those who think they can ever -appeal to science in support of a general race or sex prejudice.</p> - -<p>But in so far as the problem arises between a dominant and a subjected -race, it is impossible for science to say anything even as to averages. -For a fair general test is impossible. The chil<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xv" id="page_xv">{xv}</a></span>dren of the subjected -race never have a chance. To be deprived at the very dawn of selfhood of -a sense of possible superiority, is to be undernourished at the point of -chief educative importance. And to be assailed in early childhood with a -pervading intimation of inferiority is poison in the very centers of -growth. Except for people of the highest force of character, therefore, -to be born into a subjected race is to grow up inferior, not only to the -other race, but to one’s own potential self. We see an example of this -kind of growth in the bombastic locutions of the traditional “darkie” -who has acquired a little culture. Those great big words and long -sentences are the result of a feeling of inferiority. They are a -pathetic over-correction of the very quality of simple-heartedness which -is carried so high in these poems of Claude McKay. It is carried so -high, and made so boldly beautiful, that we can not withhold a tribute -to his will, as well as to his music and imagination. The naked force of -character that we feel in those two recent sonnets, “Baptism” and “The -White City,” is no mere verbal semblance. Its reality is certified by -the very achievement of such commanding art<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xvi" id="page_xvi">{xvi}</a></span> in the face of a -contemptuous or condescending civilization.</p> - -<p>Claude McKay came to the United States in 1912, having been offered an -education here by a friend in Jamaica who believed in his abilities. His -intention was to learn scientific farming, and return to the island to -offer practical wisdom as well as music to his people. He went at first -to one of our established philanthropic institutions for the training of -colored people. He stayed there a few months—long enough to weary of -the almost military system of discipline. And then he went to the -Agricultural College of Kansas, where he had learned that a free life -and a more elective system of education prevailed. He studied for two -years there, thinking continually less about farming and more about -literature, and gradually losing away altogether the idea of returning -to live in Jamaica. He left the college in 1914, knowing that he was a -poet—and imagining, I think, that he was a rather irresponsible and -wayward character—to cast in his lot with the working-class Negroes of -the north. Since then he has earned his living in every one of the ways -that the northern Negroes do,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xvii" id="page_xvii">{xvii}</a></span> from “pot-wrestling” in a boarding-house -kitchen to dining-car service on the New York and Philadelphia Express. -But like all true poets, he failed to take the duty of “earning a -living” very seriously. It was a matter of collecting enough money from -each new job to quit for a while and live. And with each period of -living a new and a more sure and beautiful song would come out of him.</p> - -<p>The growth of beauty and sureness in these songs would be apparent if -they were arranged in the order of their creation. As it is, the reader -will observe occasional lapses of quality. One or two of the rhythms I -confess I am not able to apprehend at all. Perhaps they will be picked -up by receivers who are attuned to a different wave-length. But the -quality is here in them all—the pure, clear arrow-like transference of -his emotion into our breast, without any but the inevitable words—the -quality that reminds us of Burns and Villon and Catullus, and all the -poets that we call lyric because we love them so much. It is the quality -that Keats sought to cherish when he said that “Poetry should be great -and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into the soul, and does not -startle or amaze with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xviii" id="page_xviii">{xviii}</a></span> itself but with its subject.” Poetry with this -quality is not for those whose interest is mainly in the manufacture of -poems. It will come rather to those whose interest is in the life of -things. It is the poetry of life, and not of the poet’s chamber. It is -the poetry that looks upon a thing, and sings. It is possessed by a -feeling and sings. May it find its way a little quietly and softly, in -this age of roar and advertising, to the hearts that love a true and -unaffected song.</p> - -<p class="r"> -<span class="smcap">Max Eastman.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xix" id="page_xix">{xix}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="AUTHORS_WORD" id="AUTHORS_WORD"></a>AUTHOR’S WORD</h2> - -<p>In putting ideas and feelings into poetry, I have tried in each case to -use the medium most adaptable to the specific purpose. I own allegiance -to no master. I have never found it possible to accept in entirety any -one poet. But I have loved and joyed in what I consider the finest in -the poets of all ages.</p> - -<p>The speech of my childhood and early youth was the Jamaica Negro -dialect, the native variant of English, which still preserves a few -words of African origin, and which is more difficult of understanding -than the American Negro dialect. But the language we wrote and read in -school was England’s English. Our text books then, before the advent of -the American and Jamaican readers and our teachers, too, were all -English-made. The native teachers of the elementary schools were tutored -by men and women of British import. I quite remember making up verses in -the dialect and in English for our moonlight ring<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xx" id="page_xx">{xx}</a></span> dances and for our -school parties. Of our purely native songs the jammas (field and road), -shay-shays (yard and booth), wakes (post-mortem), Anancy tales -(transplanted African folk lore), and revivals (religious) are all -singularly punctuated by meter and rhyme. And nearly all my own poetic -thought has always run naturally into these regular forms.</p> - -<p>Consequently, although very conscious of the new criticisms and trends -in poetry, to which I am keenly responsive and receptive, I have adhered -to such of the older traditions as I find adequate for my most lawless -and revolutionary passions and moods. I have not used patterns, images -and words that would stamp me a classicist nor a modernist. My intellect -is not scientific enough to range me on the side of either; nor is my -knowledge wide enough for me to specialize in any school.</p> - -<p>I have never studied poetics; but the forms I have used I am convinced -are the ones I can work in with the highest degree of spontaneity and -freedom.</p> - -<p>I have chosen my melodies and rhythms by instinct, and I have favored -words and figures<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xxi" id="page_xxi">{xxi}</a></span> which flow smoothly and harmoniously into my -compositions. And in all my moods I have striven to achieve directness, -truthfulness and naturalness of expression instead of an enameled -originality. I have not hesitated to use words which are old, and in -some circles considered poetically overworked and dead, when I thought I -could make them glow alive by new manipulation. Nor have I stinted my -senses of the pleasure of using the decorative metaphor where it is more -truly and vividly beautiful than the exact phrase. But for me there is -more quiet delight in “The golden moon of heaven” than in “The -terra-cotta disc of cloud-land.”</p> - -<p>Finally, while I have welcomed criticism, friendly and unfriendly, and -listened with willing attention to many varying opinions concerning -other poems and my own, I have always, in the summing up, fallen back on -my own ear and taste as the arbiter.</p> - -<p class="r"> -<span class="smcap">Claude McKay.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xxii" id="page_xxii">{xxii}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> </p> - -<h1><span class="spc">HARLEM SHADOWS</span></h1> - -<h2><a name="THE_EASTER_FLOWER" id="THE_EASTER_FLOWER"></a>THE EASTER FLOWER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Far from this foreign Easter damp and chilly<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My soul steals to a pear-shaped plot of ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where gleamed the lilac-tinted Easter lily<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Soft-scented in the air for yards around;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Alone, without a hint of guardian leaf!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Just like a fragile bell of silver rime,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It burst the tomb for freedom sweet and brief<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the young pregnant year at Eastertime;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And many thought it was a sacred sign,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And some called it the resurrection flower;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I, a pagan, worshiped at its shrine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yielding my heart unto its perfumed power.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="TO_ONE_COMING_NORTH" id="TO_ONE_COMING_NORTH"></a>TO ONE COMING NORTH</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At first you’ll joy to see the playful snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like white moths trembling on the tropic air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or waters of the hills that softly flow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gracefully falling down a shining stair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when the fields and streets are covered white<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the wind-worried void is chilly, raw,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or underneath a spell of heat and light<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The cheerless frozen spots begin to thaw,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like me you’ll long for home, where birds’ glad song<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Means flowering lanes and leas and spaces dry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tender thoughts and feelings fine and strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath a vivid silver-flecked blue sky.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But oh! more than the changeless southern isles,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When Spring has shed upon the earth her charm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You’ll love the Northland wreathed in golden smiles<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the miraculous sun turned glad and warm.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="AMERICA" id="AMERICA"></a>AMERICA</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stealing my breath of life, I will confess<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I love this cultured hell that tests my youth!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Giving me strength erect against her hate.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I stand within her walls with not a shred<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And see her might and granite wonders there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the touch of Time’s unerring hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ALFONSO_DRESSING_TO_WAIT_AT_TABLE" id="ALFONSO_DRESSING_TO_WAIT_AT_TABLE"></a>ALFONSO, DRESSING TO WAIT AT TABLE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Alfonso is a handsome bronze-hued lad<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of subtly-changing and surprising parts;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His moods are storms that frighten and make glad,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His eyes were made to capture women’s hearts.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Down in the glory-hole Alfonso sings<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An olden song of wine and clinking glasses<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And riotous rakes; magnificently flings<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gay kisses to imaginary lasses.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Alfonso’s voice of mellow music thrills<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our swaying forms and steals our hearts with joy;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when he soars, his fine falsetto trills<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are rarest notes of gold without alloy.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But, O Alfonso! wherefore do you sing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dream-songs of carefree men and ancient places?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soon we shall be beset by clamouring<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of hungry and importunate palefaces.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_TROPICS_IN_NEW_YORK" id="THE_TROPICS_IN_NEW_YORK"></a>THE TROPICS IN NEW YORK</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bananas ripe and green, and ginger-root,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cocoa in pods and alligator pears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tangerines and mangoes and grape fruit,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fit for the highest prize at parish fairs,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Set in the window, bringing memories<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of fruit-trees laden by low-singing rills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dewy dawns, and mystical blue skies<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In benediction over nun-like hills.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My eyes grew dim, and I could no more gaze;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A wave of longing through my body swept,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, hungry for the old, familiar ways,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I turned aside and bowed my head and wept.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="FLAME-HEART" id="FLAME-HEART"></a>FLAME-HEART</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So much have I forgotten in ten years,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So much in ten brief years! I have forgot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What time the purple apples come to juice,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And what month brings the shy forget-me-not.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I have forgot the special, startling season<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the pimento’s flowering and fruiting;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What time of year the ground doves brown the fields<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And fill the noonday with their curious fluting.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I have forgotten much, but still remember<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The poinsettia’s red, blood-red in warm December.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I still recall the honey-fever grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But cannot recollect the high days when<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We rooted them out of the ping-wing path<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To stop the mad bees in the rabbit pen.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I often try to think in what sweet month<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The languid painted ladies used to dapple<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The yellow by-road mazing from the main,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sweet with the golden threads of the rose-apple.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I have forgotten—strange—but quite remember<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The poinsettia’s red, blood-red in warm December.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What weeks, what months, what time of the mild year<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We cheated school to have our fling at tops?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What days our wine-thrilled bodies pulsed with joy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Feasting upon blackberries in the copse?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh some I know! I have embalmed the days,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Even the sacred moments when we played,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All innocent of passion, uncorrupt,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At noon and evening in the flame-heart’s shade.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We were so happy, happy, I remember,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the poinsettia’s red in warm December.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="HOME_THOUGHTS" id="HOME_THOUGHTS"></a>HOME THOUGHTS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh something just now must be happening there!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That suddenly and quiveringly here,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Amid the city’s noises, I must think<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of mangoes leaning o’er the river’s brink,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dexterous Davie climbing high above,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gold fruits ebon-speckled to remove,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And toss them quickly in the tangled mass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of wis-wis twisted round the guinea grass;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Cyril coming through the bramble-track<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A prize bunch of bananas on his back;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Georgie—none could ever dive like him—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Throwing his scanty clothes off for a swim;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And schoolboys, from Bridge-tunnel going home,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Watching the waters downward dash and foam.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This is no daytime dream, there’s something in it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh something’s happening there this very minute!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ON_BROADWAY" id="ON_BROADWAY"></a>ON BROADWAY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">About me young and careless feet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Linger along the garish street;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above, a hundred shouting signs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shed down their bright fantastic glow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon the merry crowd and lines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of moving carriages below.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh wonderful is Broadway—only<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart, my heart is lonely.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Desire naked, linked with Passion,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Goes strutting by in brazen fashion;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From playhouse, cabaret and inn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rainbow lights of Broadway blaze<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All gay without, all glad within;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As in a dream I stand and gaze<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At Broadway, shining Broadway—only<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart, my heart is lonely.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_BARRIER" id="THE_BARRIER"></a>THE BARRIER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I must not gaze at them although<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your eyes are dawning day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I must not watch you as you go<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your sun-illumined way;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I hear but I must never heed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The fascinating note,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which, fluting like a river reed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Comes from your trembling throat;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I must not see upon your face<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Love’s softly glowing spark;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For there’s the barrier of race,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You’re fair and I am dark.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ADOLESCENCE" id="ADOLESCENCE"></a>ADOLESCENCE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There was a time when in late afternoon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The four-o’clocks would fold up at day’s close<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pink-white in prayer, and ’neath the floating moon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I lay with them in calm and sweet repose.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And in the open spaces I could sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Half-naked to the shining worlds above;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Peace came with sleep and sleep was long and deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gained without effort, sweet like early love.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But now no balm—nor drug nor weed nor wine—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Can bring true rest to cool my body’s fever,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor sweeten in my mouth the acid brine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That salts my choicest drink and will forever.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="HOMING_SWALLOWS" id="HOMING_SWALLOWS"></a>HOMING SWALLOWS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Swift swallows sailing from the Spanish main,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O rain-birds racing merrily away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From hill-tops parched with heat and sultry plain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of wilting plants and fainting flowers, say—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When at the noon-hour from the chapel school<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The children dash and scamper down the dale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scornful of teacher’s rod and binding rule<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forever broken and without avail,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do they still stop beneath the giant tree<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To gather locusts in their childish greed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And chuckle when they break the pods to see<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The golden powder clustered round the seed?<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_CITYS_LOVE" id="THE_CITYS_LOVE"></a>THE CITY’S LOVE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For one brief golden moment rare like wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gracious city swept across the line;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oblivious of the color of my skin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forgetting that I was an alien guest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She bent to me, my hostile heart to win,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Caught me in passion to her pillowy breast;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The great, proud city, seized with a strange love,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bowed down for one flame hour my pride to prove.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="NORTH_AND_SOUTH" id="NORTH_AND_SOUTH"></a>NORTH AND SOUTH</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O sweet are tropic lands for waking dreams!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There time and life move lazily along.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There by the banks of blue-and-silver streams<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Grass-sheltered crickets chirp incessant song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gay-colored lizards loll all through the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their tongues outstretched for careless little flies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And swarthy children in the fields at play,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Look upward laughing at the smiling skies.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A breath of idleness is in the air<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That casts a subtle spell upon all things,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And love and mating-time are everywhere,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And wonder to life’s commonplaces clings.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fluttering humming-bird darts through the trees<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And dips his long beak in the big bell-flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The leisured buzzard floats upon the breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Riding a crescent cloud for endless hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sea beats softly on the emerald strands—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O sweet for quiet dreams are tropic lands!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="WILD_MAY" id="WILD_MAY"></a>WILD MAY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Aleta mentions in her tender letters,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among a chain of quaint and touching things,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That you are feeble, weighted down with fetters,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And given to strange deeds and mutterings.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No longer without trace or thought of fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do you leap to and ride the rebel roan;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But have become the victim of grim care,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With three brown beauties to support alone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But none the less will you be in my mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wild May that cantered by the risky ways,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With showy head-cloth flirting in the wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From market in the glad December days;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wild May of whom even other girls could rave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before sex tamed your spirit, made you slave.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_PLATEAU" id="THE_PLATEAU"></a>THE PLATEAU</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It was the silver, heart-enveloping view<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the mysterious sea-line far away,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Seen only on a gleaming gold-white day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That made it dear and beautiful to you.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And Laura loved it for the little hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the quartz sparkled fire, barren and dun,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whence in the shadow of the dying sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She contemplated Hallow’s wooden mill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">While Danny liked the sheltering high grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In which he lay upon a clear dry night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To hear and see, screened skilfully from sight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The happy lovers of the valley pass.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But oh! I loved it for the big round moon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That swung out of the clouds and swooned aloft,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Burning with passion, gloriously soft,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lighting the purple flowers of fragrant June.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="AFTER_THE_WINTER" id="AFTER_THE_WINTER"></a>AFTER THE WINTER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some day, when trees have shed their leaves<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And against the morning’s white<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shivering birds beneath the eaves<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have sheltered for the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll turn our faces southward, love,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Toward the summer isle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where bamboos spire to shafted grove<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And wide-mouthed orchids smile.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And we will seek the quiet hill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where towers the cotton tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And leaps the laughing crystal rill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And works the droning bee.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we will build a cottage there<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beside an open glade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With black-ribbed blue-bells blowing near,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ferns that never fade.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_WILD_GOAT" id="THE_WILD_GOAT"></a>THE WILD GOAT</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O you would clothe me in silken frocks<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And house me from the cold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bind with bright bands my glossy locks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And buy me chains of gold;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And give me—meekly to do my will—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The hapless sons of men:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the wild goat bounding on the barren hill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Droops in the grassy pen.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="HARLEM_SHADOWS" id="HARLEM_SHADOWS"></a>HARLEM SHADOWS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I hear the halting footsteps of a lass<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In Negro Harlem when the night lets fall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its veil. I see the shapes of girls who pass<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To bend and barter at desire’s call.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah, little dark girls who in slippered feet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go prowling through the night from street to street!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through the long night until the silver break<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of day the little gray feet know no rest;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the lone night until the last snow-flake<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Has dropped from heaven upon the earth’s white breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dusky, half-clad girls of tired feet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are trudging, thinly shod, from street to street.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah, stern harsh world, that in the wretched way<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of poverty, dishonor and disgrace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has pushed the timid little feet of clay,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sacred brown feet of my fallen race!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah, heart of me, the weary, weary feet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Harlem wandering from street to street.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_WHITE_CITY" id="THE_WHITE_CITY"></a>THE WHITE CITY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I will not toy with it nor bend an inch.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep in the secret chambers of my heart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I muse my life-long hate, and without flinch<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I bear it nobly as I live my part.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My being would be a skeleton, a shell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If this dark Passion that fills my every mood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And makes my heaven in the white world’s hell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Did not forever feed me vital blood.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see the mighty city through a mist—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The strident trains that speed the goaded mass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The poles and spires and towers vapor-kissed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fortressed port through which the great ships pass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tides, the wharves, the dens I contemplate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are sweet like wanton loves because I hate.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_SPANISH_NEEDLE" id="THE_SPANISH_NEEDLE"></a>THE SPANISH NEEDLE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lovely dainty Spanish needle<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With your yellow flower and white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dew bedecked and softly sleeping,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Do you think of me to-night?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Shadowed by the spreading mango,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nodding o’er the rippling stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tell me, dear plant of my childhood,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Do you of the exile dream?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do you see me by the brook’s side<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Catching crayfish ’neath the stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As you did the day you whispered:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leave the harmless dears alone?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do you see me in the meadow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Coming from the woodland spring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a bamboo on my shoulder<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a pail slung from a string?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do you see me all expectant<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lying in an orange grove,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the swee-swees sing above me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Waiting for my elf-eyed love?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lovely dainty Spanish needle,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Source to me of sweet delight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In your far-off sunny southland<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Do you dream of me to-night?<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="MY_MOTHER" id="MY_MOTHER"></a>MY MOTHER</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Reg wished me to go with him to the field,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I paused because I did not want to go;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But in her quiet way she made me yield<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reluctantly, for she was breathing low.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her hand she slowly lifted from her lap<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, smiling sadly in the old sweet way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She pointed to the nail where hung my cap.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her eyes said: I shall last another day.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But scarcely had we reached the distant place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When o’er the hills we heard a faint bell ringing;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A boy came running up with frightened face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We knew the fatal news that he was bringing.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I heard him listlessly, without a moan,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Although the only one I loved was gone.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The dawn departs, the morning is begun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The trades come whispering from off the seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fields of corn are golden in the sun,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dark-brown tassels fluttering in the breeze;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bell is sounding and the children pass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Frog-leaping, skipping, shouting, laughing shrill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down the red road, over the pasture-grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Up to the school-house crumbling on the hill.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The older folk are at their peaceful toil,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some pulling up the weeds, some plucking corn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And others breaking up the sun-baked soil.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Float, faintly-scented breeze, at early morn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the earth where mortals sow and reap—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath its breast my mother lies asleep.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="IN_BONDAGE" id="IN_BONDAGE"></a>IN BONDAGE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I would be wandering in distant fields<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where man, and bird, and beast, lives leisurely,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the old earth is kind, and ever yields<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her goodly gifts to all her children free;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where life is fairer, lighter, less demanding,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And boys and girls have time and space for play<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before they come to years of understanding—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Somewhere I would be singing, far away.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For life is greater than the thousand wars<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Men wage for it in their insatiate lust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And will remain like the eternal stars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When all that shines to-day is drift and dust<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I am bound with you in your mean graves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O black men, simple slaves of ruthless slaves.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="DECEMBER_1919" id="DECEMBER_1919"></a>DECEMBER, 1919</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Last night I heard your voice, mother,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The words you sang to me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When I, a little barefoot boy,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Knelt down against your knee.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And tears gushed from my heart, mother,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And passed beyond its wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But though the fountain reached my throat<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The drops refused to fall.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Tis ten years since you died, mother,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Just ten dark years of pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And oh, I only wish that I<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Could weep just once again.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="HERITAGE" id="HERITAGE"></a>HERITAGE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now the dead past seems vividly alive,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And in this shining moment I can trace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down through the vista of the vanished years,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your faun-like form, your fond elusive face.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And suddenly some secret spring’s released,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And unawares a riddle is revealed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I can read like large, black-lettered print,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What seemed before a thing forever sealed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I know the magic word, the graceful thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The song that fills me in my lucid hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spirit’s wine that thrills my body through,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And makes me music-drunk, are yours, all yours.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I cannot praise, for you have passed from praise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I have no tinted thoughts to paint you true;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I can feel and I can write the word;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The best of me is but the least of you.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="WHEN_I_HAVE_PASSED_AWAY" id="WHEN_I_HAVE_PASSED_AWAY"></a>WHEN I HAVE PASSED AWAY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When I have passed away and am forgotten,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And no one living can recall my face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When under alien sod my bones lie rotten<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With not a tree or stone to mark the place;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Perchance a pensive youth, with passion burning,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For olden verse that smacks of love and wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The musty pages of old volumes turning,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">May light upon a little song of mine,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And he may softly hum the tune and wonder<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who wrote the verses in the long ago;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or he may sit him down awhile to ponder<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon the simple words that touch him so.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ENSLAVED" id="ENSLAVED"></a>ENSLAVED</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh when I think of my long-suffering race,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For weary centuries despised, oppressed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Enslaved and lynched, denied a human place<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the great life line of the Christian West;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the Black Land disinherited,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Robbed in the ancient country of its birth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart grows sick with hate, becomes as lead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For this my race that has no home on earth.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then from the dark depths of my soul I cry<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the avenging angel to consume<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The white man’s world of wonders utterly:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let it be swallowed up in earth’s vast womb,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or upward roll as sacrificial smoke<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To liberate my people from its yoke!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="I_SHALL_RETURN" id="I_SHALL_RETURN"></a>I SHALL RETURN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I shall return again; I shall return<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To laugh and love and watch with wonder-eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At golden noon the forest fires burn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wafting their blue-black smoke to sapphire skies.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I shall return to loiter by the streams<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That bathe the brown blades of the bending grasses,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And realize once more my thousand dreams<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of waters rushing down the mountain passes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I shall return to hear the fiddle and fife<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of village dances, dear delicious tunes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That stir the hidden depths of native life,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stray melodies of dim remembered runes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I shall return, I shall return again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To ease my mind of long, long years of pain.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="MORNING_JOY" id="MORNING_JOY"></a>MORNING JOY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At night the wide and level stretch of wold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which at high noon had basked in quiet gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far as the eye could see was ghostly white;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dark was the night save for the snow’s weird light.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I drew the shades far down, crept into bed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hearing the cold wind moaning overhead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the sad pines, my soul, catching its pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went sorrowing with it across the plain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At dawn, behold! the pall of night was gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save where a few shrubs melancholy, lone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Detained a fragile shadow. Golden-lipped<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The laughing grasses heaven’s sweet wine sipped.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sun rose smiling o’er the river’s breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And my soul, by his happy spirit blest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soared like a bird to greet him in the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And drew out of his heart Eternity.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="AFRICA" id="AFRICA"></a>AFRICA</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sun sought thy dim bed and brought forth light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sciences were sucklings at thy breast;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When all the world was young in pregnant night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy slaves toiled at thy monumental best.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou ancient treasure-land, thou modern prize,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">New peoples marvel at thy pyramids!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The years roll on, thy sphinx of riddle eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Watches the mad world with immobile lids.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Hebrews humbled them at Pharaoh’s name.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cradle of Power! Yet all things were in vain!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Honor and Glory, Arrogance and Fame!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They went. The darkness swallowed thee again.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou art the harlot, now thy time is done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all the mighty nations of the sun.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ON_A_PRIMITIVE_CANOE" id="ON_A_PRIMITIVE_CANOE"></a>ON A PRIMITIVE CANOE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here, passing lonely down this quiet lane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before a mud-splashed window long I pause<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To gaze and gaze, while through my active brain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still thoughts are stirred to wakefulness; because<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long, long ago in a dim unknown land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A massive forest-tree, ax-felled, adze-hewn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was deftly done by cunning mortal hand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into a symbol of the tender moon.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why does it thrill more than the handsome boat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That bore me o’er the wild Atlantic ways,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fill me with rare sense of things remote<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From this harsh life of fretful nights and days?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I cannot answer but, whate’er it be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An old wine has intoxicated me.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="WINTER_IN_THE_COUNTRY" id="WINTER_IN_THE_COUNTRY"></a>WINTER IN THE COUNTRY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sweet life! how lovely to be here<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And feel the soft sea-laden breeze<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strike my flushed face, the spruce’s fair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Free limbs to see, the lesser trees’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bare hands to touch, the sparrow’s cheep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To heed, and watch his nimble flight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the short brown grass asleep.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Love glorious in his friendly might,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Music that every heart could bless,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And thoughts of life serene, divine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond my power to express,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Crowd round this lifted heart of mine!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But oh! to leave this paradise<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For the city’s dirty basement room,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, beauty hidden from the eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A table, bed, bureau and broom<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In corner set, two crippled chairs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All covered up with dust and grim<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With hideousness and scars of years,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And gaslight burning weird and dim,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Will welcome me.... And yet, and yet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This very wind, the winter birds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The glory of the soft sunset,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come there to me in words.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="TO_WINTER" id="TO_WINTER"></a>TO WINTER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Stay, season of calm love and soulful snows!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is a subtle sweetness in the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ripples on the stream’s breast gaily run,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wind more boisterously by me blows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And each succeeding day now longer grows.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The birds a gladder music have begun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The squirrel, full of mischief and of fun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From maples’ topmost branch the brown twig throws.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I read these pregnant signs, know what they mean:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I know that thou art making ready to go.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh stay! I fled a land where fields are green<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Always, and palms wave gently to and fro,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And winds are balmy, blue brooks ever sheen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To ease my heart of its impassioned woe.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="SPRING_IN_NEW_HAMPSHIRE" id="SPRING_IN_NEW_HAMPSHIRE"></a>SPRING IN NEW HAMPSHIRE<br /><br /> -(<i>To J. L. J. F. E.</i>)</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Too green the springing April grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Too blue the silver-speckled sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For me to linger here, alas,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While happy winds go laughing by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wasting the golden hours indoors,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Washing windows and scrubbing floors.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Too wonderful the April night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Too faintly sweet the first May flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The stars too gloriously bright,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For me to spend the evening hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When fields are fresh and streams are leaping,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ON_THE_ROAD" id="ON_THE_ROAD"></a>ON THE ROAD</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Roar of the rushing train fearfully rocking,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Impatient people jammed in line for food,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rasping noise of cars together knocking,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And worried waiters, some in ugly mood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crowding into the choking pantry hole<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To call out dishes for each angry glutton<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Exasperated grown beyond control,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From waiting for his soup or fish or mutton.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At last the station’s reached, the engine stops;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For bags and wraps the red-caps circle round;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From off the step the passenger lightly hops,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And seeks his cab or tram-car homeward bound;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The waiters pass out weary, listless, glum,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To spend their tips on harlots, cards and rum.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_HARLEM_DANCER" id="THE_HARLEM_DANCER"></a>THE HARLEM DANCER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Applauding youths laughed with young prostitutes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And watched her perfect, half-clothed body sway;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her voice was like the sound of blended flutes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blown by black players upon a picnic day.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She sang and danced on gracefully and calm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The light gauze hanging loose about her form;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To me she seemed a proudly-swaying palm<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grown lovelier for passing through a storm.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon her swarthy neck black shiny curls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Luxuriant fell; and tossing coins in praise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Devoured her shape with eager, passionate gaze;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But looking at her falsely-smiling face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I knew her self was not in that strange place.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="DAWN_IN_NEW_YORK" id="DAWN_IN_NEW_YORK"></a>DAWN IN NEW YORK</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Dawn! The Dawn! The crimson-tinted, comes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out of the low still skies, over the hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Manhattan’s roofs and spires and cheerless domes!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Dawn! My spirit to its spirit thrills.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Almost the mighty city is asleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No pushing crowd, no tramping, tramping feet.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But here and there a few cars groaning creep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Along, above, and underneath the street,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bearing their strangely-ghostly burdens by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The women and the men of garish nights,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their eyes wine-weakened and their clothes awry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grotesques beneath the strong electric lights.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shadows wane. The Dawn comes to New York.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I go darkly-rebel to my work.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_TIRED_WORKER" id="THE_TIRED_WORKER"></a>THE TIRED WORKER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O whisper, O my soul! The afternoon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is waning into evening, whisper soft!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Peace, O my rebel heart! for soon the moon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From out its misty veil will swing aloft!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be patient, weary body, soon the night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will wrap thee gently in her sable sheet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with a leaden sigh thou wilt invite<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To rest thy tired hands and aching feet.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wretched day was theirs, the night is mine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come tender sleep, and fold me to thy breast.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But what steals out the gray clouds red like wine?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O dawn! O dreaded dawn! O let me rest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weary my veins, my brain, my life! Have pity!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No! Once again the harsh, the ugly city.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="OUTCAST" id="OUTCAST"></a>OUTCAST</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For the dim regions whence my fathers came<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My spirit, bondaged by the body, longs.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Words felt, but never heard, my lips would frame;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My soul would sing forgotten jungle songs.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I would go back to darkness and to peace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the great western world holds me in fee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I may never hope for full release<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While to its alien gods I bend my knee.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Something in me is lost, forever lost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some vital thing has gone out of my heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I must walk the way of life a ghost<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the sons of earth, a thing apart;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For I was born, far from my native clime,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under the white man’s menace, out of time.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="I_KNOW_MY_SOUL" id="I_KNOW_MY_SOUL"></a>I KNOW MY SOUL</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I plucked my soul out of its secret place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And held it to the mirror of my eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To see it like a star against the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A twitching body quivering in space,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A spark of passion shining on my face.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I explored it to determine why<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This awful key to my infinity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Conspires to rob me of sweet joy and grace.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And if the sign may not be fully read,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If I can comprehend but not control,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I need not gloom my days with futile dread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because I see a part and not the whole.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Contemplating the strange, I’m comforted<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By this narcotic thought: I know my soul.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="BIRDS_OF_PREY" id="BIRDS_OF_PREY"></a>BIRDS OF PREY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Their shadow dims the sunshine of our day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As they go lumbering across the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Squawking in joy of feeling safe on high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beating their heavy wings of owlish gray.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They scare the singing birds of earth away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As, greed-impelled, they circle threateningly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Watching the toilers with malignant eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From their exclusive haven—birds of prey.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They swoop down for the spoil in certain might,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fasten in our bleeding flesh their claws.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They beat us to surrender weak with fright,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tugging and tearing without let or pause,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They flap their hideous wings in grim delight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And stuff our gory hearts into their maws.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_CASTAWAYS" id="THE_CASTAWAYS"></a>THE CASTAWAYS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The vivid grass with visible delight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Springing triumphant from the pregnant earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The butterflies, and sparrows in brief flight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chirping and dancing for the season’s birth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dandelions and rare daffodils<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That touch the deep-stirred heart with hands of gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The thrushes sending forth their joyous trills,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not these, not these did I at first behold!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But seated on the benches daubed with green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The castaways of life, a few asleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some withered women desolate and mean,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And over all, life’s shadows dark and deep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moaning I turned away, for misery<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I have the strength to bear but not to see.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="EXHORTATION_SUMMER_1919" id="EXHORTATION_SUMMER_1919"></a>EXHORTATION: SUMMER, 1919</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through the pregnant universe rumbles life’s terrific thunder,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Earth’s bowels quake with terror; strange and terrible storms break,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lightning-torches flame the heavens, kindling souls of men, thereunder:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Africa! long ages sleeping, O my motherland, awake!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the East the clouds glow crimson with the new dawn that is breaking,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And its golden glory fills the western skies.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O my brothers and my sisters, wake! arise!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the new birth rends the old earth and the very dead are waking,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ghosts are turned flesh, throwing off the grave’s disguise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the foolish, even children, are made wise;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the big earth groans in travail for the strong, new world in making<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span>—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O my brothers, dreaming for dim centuries,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wake from sleeping; to the East turn, turn your eyes!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh the night is sweet for sleeping, but the shining day’s for working;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sons of the seductive night, for your children’s children’s sake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the deep primeval forests where the crouching leopard’s lurking,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lift your heavy-lidded eyes, Ethiopia! awake!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the East the clouds glow crimson with the new dawn that is breaking,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And its golden glory fills the western skies.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O my brothers and my sisters, wake! arise!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the new birth rends the old earth and the very dead are waking,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ghosts are turned flesh, throwing off the grave’s disguise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the foolish, even children, are made wise;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the big earth groans in travail for the strong, new world in making—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O my brothers, dreaming for long centuries,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wake from sleeping; to the East turn, turn your eyes!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_LYNCHING" id="THE_LYNCHING"></a>THE LYNCHING</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His Spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His father, by the cruelest way of pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had bidden him to his bosom once again;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The awful sin remained still unforgiven.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All night a bright and solitary star<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Perchance the one that ever guided him,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet gave him up at last to Fate’s wild whim)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hung pitifully o’er the swinging char.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Day dawned, and soon the mixed crowds came to view<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ghastly body swaying in the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The women thronged to look, but never a one<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Showed sorrow in her eyes of steely blue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And little lads, lynchers that were to be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Danced round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="BAPTISM" id="BAPTISM"></a>BAPTISM</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Into the furnace let me go alone;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stay you without in terror of the heat.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I will go naked in—for thus ’tis sweet—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into the weird depths of the hottest zone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I will not quiver in the frailest bone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You will not note a flicker of defeat;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart shall tremble not its fate to meet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My mouth give utterance to any moan.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The yawning oven spits forth fiery spears;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red aspish tongues shout wordlessly my name.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Desire destroys, consumes my mortal fears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Transforming me into a shape of flame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I will come out, back to your world of tears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A stronger soul within a finer frame.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="IF_WE_MUST_DIE" id="IF_WE_MUST_DIE"></a>IF WE MUST DIE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If we must die, let it not be like hogs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Making their mock at our accursèd lot.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If we must die, O let us nobly die,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So that our precious blood may not be shed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In vain; then even the monsters we defy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What though before us lies the open grave?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="SUBWAY_WIND" id="SUBWAY_WIND"></a>SUBWAY WIND</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Far down, down through the city’s great, gaunt gut<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The gray train rushing bears the weary wind;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the packed cars the fans the crowd’s breath cut,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leaving the sick and heavy air behind.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And pale-cheeked children seek the upper door<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To give their summer jackets to the breeze;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their laugh is swallowed in the deafening roar<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of captive wind that moans for fields and seas;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seas cooling warm where native schooners drift<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through sleepy waters, while gulls wheel and sweep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Waiting for windy waves the keels to lift<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lightly among the islands of the deep;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Islands of lofty palm trees blooming white<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That lend their perfume to the tropic sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where fields lie idle in the dew drenched night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the Trades float above them fresh and free.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_NIGHT_FIRE" id="THE_NIGHT_FIRE"></a>THE NIGHT FIRE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No engines shrieking rescue storm the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hose and hydrant cannot here avail;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flames laugh high and fling their challenging light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And clouds turn gray and black from silver-pale.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fire leaps out and licks the ancient walls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the big building bends and twists and groans.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A bar drops from its place; a rafter falls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Burning the flowers. The wind in frenzy moans.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The watchers gaze, held wondering by the fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dwellers cry their sorrow to the crowd,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flames beyond themselves rise higher, higher,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To lose their glory in the frowning cloud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yielding at length the last reluctant breath.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where life lay asleep broods darkly death.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="POETRY" id="POETRY"></a>POETRY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sometimes I tremble like a storm-swept flower,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And seek to hide my tortured soul from thee.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bowing my head in deep humility<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before the silent thunder of thy power.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sometimes I flee before thy blazing light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As from the specter of pursuing death;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Intimidated lest thy mighty breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Windways, will sweep me into utter night.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For oh, I fear they will be swallowed up—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The loves which are to me of vital worth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My passion and my pleasure in the earth—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lost forever in thy magic cup!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I fear, I fear my truly human heart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will perish on the altar-stone of art!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="TO_A_POET" id="TO_A_POET"></a>TO A POET</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is a lovely noise about your name,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above the shoutings of the city clear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More than a moment’s merriment, whose claim<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Will greater grow with every mellowed year.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The people will not bear you down the street,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dancing to the strong rhythm of your words,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The modern kings will throttle you to greet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The piping voice of artificial birds.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But the rare lonely spirits, even mine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who love the immortal music of all days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will see the glory of your trailing line,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bedded beauty of your haunting lays.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="A_PRAYER" id="A_PRAYER"></a>A PRAYER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Mid the discordant noises of the day I hear thee calling;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I stumble as I fare along Earth’s way; keep me from falling.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mine eyes are open but they cannot see for gloom of night;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I can no more than lift my heart to thee for inward light.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wild and fiery passion of my youth consumes my soul;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In agony I turn to thee for truth and self-control.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For Passion and all the pleasures it can give will die the death;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But this of me eternally must live, thy borrowed breath.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Mid the discordant noises of the day I hear thee calling;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I stumble as I fare along Earth’s way; keep me from falling.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="WHEN_DAWN_COMES_TO_THE_CITY" id="WHEN_DAWN_COMES_TO_THE_CITY"></a>WHEN DAWN COMES TO THE CITY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The tired cars go grumbling by,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The moaning, groaning cars,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the old milk carts go rumbling by<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Under the same dull stars.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Out of the tenements, cold as stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Dark figures start for work;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I watch them sadly shuffle on,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">’Tis dawn, dawn in New York.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">But I would be on the island of the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In the heart of the island of the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">There, oh there! on the island of the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">There I would be at dawn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The tired cars go grumbling by,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The crazy, lazy cars,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the same milk carts go rumbling by<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Under the dying stars.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A lonely newsboy hurries by,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Humming a recent ditty;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Red streaks strike through the gray of the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The dawn comes to the city.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">But I would be on the island of the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In the heart of the island of the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">There, oh there! on the island of the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">There I would be at dawn.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="O_WORD_I_LOVE_TO_SING" id="O_WORD_I_LOVE_TO_SING"></a>O WORD I LOVE TO SING</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O word I love to sing! thou art too tender<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For all the passions agitating me;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For all my bitterness thou art too tender,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I cannot pour my red soul into thee.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O haunting melody! thou art too slender,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Too fragile like a globe of crystal glass;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For all my stormy thoughts thou art too slender,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The burden from my bosom will not pass.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O tender word! O melody so slender!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O tears of passion saturate with brine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O words, unwilling words, ye can not render<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My hatred for the foe of me and mine.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ABSENCE" id="ABSENCE"></a>ABSENCE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your words dropped into my heart like pebbles into a pool,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rippling around my breast and leaving it melting cool.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your kisses fell sharp on my flesh like dawn-dews from the limb,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of a fruit-filled lemon tree when the day is young and dim.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like soft rain-christened sunshine, as fragile as rare gold lace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your breath, sweet-scented and warm, has kindled my tranquil face.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But a silence vasty-deep, oh deeper than all these ties<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now, through the menacing miles, brooding between us lies.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And more than the songs I sing, I await your written word,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To stir my fluent blood as never your presence stirred.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="SUMMER_MORN_IN_NEW_HAMPSHIRE" id="SUMMER_MORN_IN_NEW_HAMPSHIRE"></a>SUMMER MORN IN NEW HAMPSHIRE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All yesterday it poured, and all night long<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the shingled roof like a weird song,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon the grass like running children’s feet.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And down the mountains by the dark cloud kissed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a strange shape in filmy veiling dressed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slid slowly, silently, the wraith-like mist,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And nestled soft against the earth’s wet breast.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But lo, there was a miracle at dawn!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The still air stirred at touch of the faint breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sun a sheet of gold bequeathed the lawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The songsters twittered in the rustling trees.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all things were transfigured in the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But me whom radiant beauty could not move;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For you, more wonderful, were far away,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I was blind with hunger for your love.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="REST_IN_PEACE" id="REST_IN_PEACE"></a>REST IN PEACE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No more for you the city’s thorny ways,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The ugly corners of the Negro belt;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The miseries and pains of these harsh days<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By you will never, never again be felt.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No more, if still you wander, will you meet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With nights of unabating bitterness;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They cannot reach you in your safe retreat,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The city’s hate, the city’s prejudice!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Twas sudden—but your menial task is done,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The dawn now breaks on you, the dark is over,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sea is crossed, the longed-for port is won;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Farewell, oh, fare you well! my friend and lover.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="A_RED_FLOWER" id="A_RED_FLOWER"></a>A RED FLOWER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your lips are like a southern lily red,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wet with the soft rain-kisses of the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In which the brown bee buries deep its head,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When still the dawn’s a silver sea of light.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your lips betray the secret of your soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The dark delicious essence that is you,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A mystery of life, the flaming goal<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I seek through mazy pathways strange and new.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your lips are the red symbol of a dream.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What visions of warm lilies they impart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That line the green bank of a fair blue stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With butterflies and bees close to each heart!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Brown bees that murmur sounds of music rare,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That softly fall upon the languorous breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wafting them gently on the quiet air<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Among untended avenues of trees.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O were I hovering, a bee, to probe<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Deep down within your scented heart, fair flower,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Enfolded by your soft vermilion robe,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Amorous of sweets, for but one perfect hour!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="COURAGE" id="COURAGE"></a>COURAGE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O lonely heart so timid of approach,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like the shy tropic flower that shuts its lips<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the faint touch of tender finger tips:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What is your word? What question would you broach?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your lustrous-warm eyes are too sadly kind<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To mask the meaning of your dreamy tale,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your guarded life too exquisitely frail<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against the daggers of my warring mind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is no part of the unyielding earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Even bare rocks where the eagles build their nest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Will give us undisturbed and friendly rest.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No dewfall softens this vast belt of dearth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But in the socket-chiseled teeth of strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That gleam in serried files in all the lands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We may join hungry, understanding hands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And drink our share of ardent love and life.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="TO_OEA" id="TO_OEA"></a>TO O.E.A.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your voice is the color of a robin’s breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And there’s a sweet sob in it like rain—still rain in the night.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the leaves of the trumpet-tree, close to his nest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The pea-dove sings, and each note thrills me with strange delight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like the words, wet with music, that well from your trembling throat.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">I’m afraid of your eyes, they’re so bold,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Searching me through, reading my thoughts, shining like gold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But sometimes they are gentle and soft like the dew on the lips of the eucharis<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before the sun comes warm with his lover’s kiss.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You are sea-foam, pure with the star’s loveliness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not mortal, a flower, a fairy, too fair for the beauty-shorn earth.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All wonderful things, all beautiful things, gave of their wealth to your birth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh I love you so much, not recking of passion, that I feel it is wrong!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But men will love you, flower, fairy, non-mortal spirit burdened with flesh,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forever, life-long.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ROMANCE" id="ROMANCE"></a>ROMANCE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scented and warm against my beating breast;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To whisper soft and quivering your name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And drink the passion burning in your frame;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tease your mouth with kisses till you speak<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Melodious like notes of mating birds;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To hear you ask if I shall love always,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And myself answer: Till the end of days;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To feel your easeful sigh of happiness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When on your trembling lips I murmur: Yes;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It is so sweet. We know it is not true.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What matters it? The night must shed her dew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We know it is not true, but it is sweet—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The poem with this music is complete.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="FLOWER_OF_LOVE" id="FLOWER_OF_LOVE"></a>FLOWER OF LOVE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The perfume of your body dulls my sense.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I want nor wine nor weed; your breath alone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Suffices. In this moment rare and tense<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I worship at your breast. The flower is blown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The saffron petals tempt my amorous mouth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The yellow heart is radiant now with dew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soft-scented, redolent of my loved South;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O flower of love! I give myself to you.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Uncovered on your couch of figured green,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here let us linger indivisible.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The portals of your sanctuary unseen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Receive my offering, yielding unto me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, with our love the night is warm and deep!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The air is sweet, my flower, and sweet the flute<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose music lulls our burning brain to sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While we lie loving, passionate and mute.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_SNOW_FAIRY" id="THE_SNOW_FAIRY"></a>THE SNOW FAIRY</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Throughout the afternoon I watched them there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Snow-fairies falling, falling from the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whirling fantastic in the misty air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Contending fierce for space supremacy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they flew down a mightier force at night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As though in heaven there was revolt and riot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they, frail things had taken panic flight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down to the calm earth seeking peace and quiet.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I went to bed and rose at early dawn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To see them huddled together in a heap,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each merged into the other upon the lawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Worn out by the sharp struggle, fast asleep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sun shone brightly on them half the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By night they stealthily had stol’n away.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And suddenly my thoughts then turned to you<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who came to me upon a winter’s night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When snow-sprites round my attic window flew,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your hair disheveled, eyes aglow with light.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart was like the weather when you came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wanton winds were blowing loud and long;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But you, with joy and passion all aflame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You danced and sang a lilting summer song.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I made room for you in my little bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Took covers from the closet fresh and warm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A downful pillow for your scented head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lay down with you resting in my arm.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You went with Dawn. You left me ere the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lonely actor of a dreamy play.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="LA_PALOMA_IN_LONDON" id="LA_PALOMA_IN_LONDON"></a>LA PALOMA IN LONDON</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">About Soho we went before the light;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We went, unresting six, craving new fun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">New scenes, new raptures, for the fevered night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of rollicking laughter, drink and song, was done.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The vault was void, but for the dawn’s great star<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That shed upon our path its silver flame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When La Paloma on a low guitar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Abruptly from a darkened casement came—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Harlem! All else shut out, I saw the hall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you in your red shoulder sash come dancing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Val against me languid by the wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your burning coffee-colored eyes keen glancing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aslant at mine, proud in your golden glory!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I loved you, Cuban girl, fond sweet Diory.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="A_MEMORY_OF_JUNE" id="A_MEMORY_OF_JUNE"></a>A MEMORY OF JUNE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When June comes dancing o’er the death of May,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With scarlet roses tinting her green breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mating thrushes ushering in her day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Earth on tiptoe for her golden guest,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I always see the evening when we met—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The first of June baptized in tender rain—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And walked home through the wide streets, gleaming wet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Arms locked, our warm flesh pulsing with love’s pain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I always see the cheerful little room,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And in the corner, fresh and white, the bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet scented with a delicate perfume,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wherein for one night only we were wed;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where in the starlit stillness we lay mute,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And heard the whispering showers all night long,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And your brown burning body was a lute<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whereon my passion played his fevered song.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When June comes dancing o’er the death of May,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With scarlet roses staining her fair feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My soul takes leave of me to sing all day<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A love so fugitive and so complete.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="FLIRTATION" id="FLIRTATION"></a>FLIRTATION</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Upon thy purple mat thy body bare<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is fine and limber like a tender tree.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The motion of thy supple form is rare,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a lithe panther lolling languidly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Toying and turning slowly in her lair.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Oh, I would never ask for more of thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou art so clean in passion and so fair.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Enough! if thou wilt ask no more of me!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="TORMENTED" id="TORMENTED"></a>TORMENTED</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I will not reason, wrestle here with you,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though you pursue and worry me about;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As well put forth my swarthy arm to stop<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wild wind howling, darkly mad without.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The night is yours for revels; day will light.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I will not fight you, bold and tigerish,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For I am weak, while you are gaining strength;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Peace! cease tormenting me to have your wish.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But when you’re filled and sated with the flesh,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I shall go swiftly to the silver stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To cleanse my body for the spirit’s sake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And sun my limbs, and close my eyes to dream.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="POLARITY" id="POLARITY"></a>POLARITY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nay, why reproach each other, be unkind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For there’s no plane on which we two may meet?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let’s both forgive, forget, for both were blind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And life is of a day, and time is fleet.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And I am fire, swift to flame and burn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Melting with elements high overhead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While you are water in an earthly urn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All pure, but heavy, and of hue like lead.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ONE_YEAR_AFTER" id="ONE_YEAR_AFTER"></a>ONE YEAR AFTER</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not once in all our days of poignant love,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Did I a single instant give to thee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My undivided being wholly free.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not all thy potent passion could remove<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The barrier that loomed between to prove<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The full supreme surrendering of me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, I was beaten, helpless utterly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against the shadow-fact with which I strove.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For when a cruel power forced me to face<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The truth which poisoned our illicit wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That even I was faithless to my race<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bleeding beneath the iron hand of thine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our union seemed a monstrous thing and base!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I was an outcast from thy world and mine.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Adventure-seasoned and storm-buffeted,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I shun all signs of anchorage, because<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The zest of life exceeds the bound of laws.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">New gales of tropic fury round my head<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Break lashing me through hours of soulful dread;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But when the terror thins and, spent, withdraws,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leaving me wondering awhile, I pause—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But soon again the risky ways I tread!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No rigid road for me, no peace, no rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While molten elements run through my blood;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And beauty-burning bodies manifest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their warm, heart-melting motions to be wooed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And passion boldly rising in my breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like rivers of the Spring, lets loose its flood.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="FRENCH_LEAVE" id="FRENCH_LEAVE"></a>FRENCH LEAVE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No servile little fear shall daunt my will<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This morning. I have courage steeled to say<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I will be lazy, conqueringly still,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I will not lose the hours in toil this day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The roaring world without, careless of souls,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall leave me to my placid dream of rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My four walls shield me from its shouting ghouls,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all its hates have fled my quiet breast.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And I will loll here resting, wide awake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dead to the world of work, the world of love,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I laze contented just for dreaming’s sake<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With not the slightest urge to think or move.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How tired unto death, how tired I was!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Now for a day I put my burdens by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And like a child amidst the meadow grass<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Under the southern sun, I languid lie<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And feel the bed about me kindly deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My strength ooze gently from my hollow bones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My worried brain drift aimlessly to sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like softening to a song of tuneful tones.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="JASMINES" id="JASMINES"></a>JASMINES</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your scent is in the room.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swiftly it overwhelms and conquers me!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Jasmines, night jasmines, perfect of perfume,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heavy with dew before the dawn of day!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your face was in the mirror. I could see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You smile and vanish suddenly away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leaving behind the vestige of a tear.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sad suffering face, from parting grown so dear!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Night jasmines cannot bloom in this cold place;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Without the street is wet and weird with snow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cold nude trees are tossing to and fro;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Too stormy is the night for your fond face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For your low voice too loud the wind’s mad roar.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But oh, your scent is here—jasmines that grow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Luxuriant, clustered round your cottage door!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="COMMEMORATION" id="COMMEMORATION"></a>COMMEMORATION</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When first your glory shone upon my face<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My body kindled to a mighty flame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And burnt you yielding in my hot embrace<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Until you swooned to love, breathing my name.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And wonder came and filled our night of sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a new comet crimsoning the sky;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And stillness like the stillness of the deep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Suspended lay as an unuttered sigh.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I never again shall feel your warm heart flushed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Panting with passion, naked unto mine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until the throbbing world around is hushed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To quiet worship at our scented shrine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nor will your glory seek my swarthy face,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To kindle and to change my jaded frame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into a miracle of godlike grace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Transfigured, bathed in your immortal flame.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="MEMORIAL" id="MEMORIAL"></a>MEMORIAL</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your body was a sacred cell always,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A jewel that grew dull in garish light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An opal which beneath my wondering gaze<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gleamed rarely, softly throbbing in the night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I touched your flesh with reverential hands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For you were sweet and timid like a flower<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That blossoms out of barren tropic sands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shedding its perfume in one golden hour.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You yielded to my touch with gentle grace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And though my passion was a mighty wave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That buried you beneath its strong embrace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You were yet happy in the moment’s grave.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Still more than passion consummate to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">More than the nuptials immemorial sung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was the warm thrill that melted me to see<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your clean brown body, beautiful and young;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The joy in your maturity at length,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The peace that filled my soul like cooling wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When you responded to my tender strength,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And pressed your heart exulting into mine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How shall I with such memories of you<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In coarser forms of love fruition find?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No, I would rather like a ghost pursue<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The fairy phantoms of my lonely mind.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THIRST" id="THIRST"></a>THIRST</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My spirit wails for water, water now!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My tongue is aching dry, my throat is hot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For water, fresh rain shaken from a bough,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or dawn dews heavy in some leafy spot.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My hungry body’s burning for a swim<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In sunlit water where the air is cool,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As in Trout Valley where upon a limb<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The golden finch sings sweetly to the pool.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh water, water, when the night is done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When day steals gray-white through the windowpane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clear silver water when I wake, alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All impotent of parts, of fevered brain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pure water from a forest fountain first,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To wash me, cleanse me, and to quench my thirst!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="FUTILITY" id="FUTILITY"></a>FUTILITY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, I have tried to laugh the pain away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let new flames brush my love-springs like a feather.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the old fever seizes me to-day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As sickness grips a soul in wretched weather.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I have given up myself to every urge,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With not a care of precious powers spent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have bared my body to the strangest scourge,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To soothe and deaden my heart’s unhealing rent.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But you have torn a nerve out of my frame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A gut that no physician can replace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And reft my life of happiness and aim.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh what new purpose shall I now embrace?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What substance hold, what lovely form pursue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When my thought burns through everything to you?<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THROUGH_AGONY" id="THROUGH_AGONY"></a>THROUGH AGONY</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All night, through the eternity of night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pain was my portion though I could not feel.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep in my humbled heart you ground your heel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till I was reft of even my inner light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till reason from my mind had taken flight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all my world went whirling in a reel.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all my swarthy strength turned cold like steel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A passive mass beneath your puny might.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Last night I gave you triumph over me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So I should be myself as once before,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I marveled at your shallow mystery,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And haunted hungrily your temple door.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I gave you sum and substance to be free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, you shall never triumph any more!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I do not fear to face the fact and say,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How darkly-dull my living hours have grown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My wounded heart sinks heavier than stone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because I loved you longer than a day!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I do not shame to turn myself away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From beckoning flowers beautifully blown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To mourn your vivid memory alone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In mountain fastnesses austerely gray.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mists will shroud me on the utter height,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The salty, brimming waters of my breast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will mingle with the fresh dews of the night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To bathe my spirit hankering to rest.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But after sleep I’ll wake with greater might,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Once more to venture on the eternal quest.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - 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