Chapter I: Want to Die While You Love Me

I want to die while you love me,
While yet you hold me fair,
While laughter lies upon my lips
And lights are in my hair.

I want to die while you love me,
And bear to that still bed,
Your kisses turbulent, unspent
To warm me when I'm dead.

I want to die while you love me
Oh, who would care to live
Till love has nothing more to ask
And nothing more to give!

I want to die while you love me
And never, never see
The glory of this perfect day
Grow dim or cease to be.

WELT

Would I might mend the fabric of my youth That daily flaunts its tatters to my eyes, Would I might compromise awhile with truth Until our moon now waxing, wanes and dies.

For I would go a further while with you, And drain this cup so tantalant and fair Which meets my parched lips like cooling dew, Ere time has brushed cold fingers thru my hair!

MY LITTLE DREAMS

I'm folding up my little dreams Within my heart to-night, And praying I may soon forget The torture of their sight.

For Time's deft fingers scroll my brow With fell relentless art-- I'm folding up my little dreams To-night, within my heart!

Claude McKay

THE LYNCHING

His spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven. His father, by the crudest 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.

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 accursed lot. If we must die--oh, 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!

Oh, Kinsmen! We must meet the common foe; Though far outnumbered, let us still be 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!

TO THE WHITE FIENDS

Think you I am not fiend and savage too? Think you I could not arm me with a gun And shoot down ten of you for every one Of my black brothers murdered, burnt by you? Be not deceived, for every deed you do I could match--out-match: am I not Africa's son, Black of that black land where black deeds are done?

But the Almighty from the darkness drew My soul and said: Even thou shalt be a light Awhile to burn on the benighted earth, Thy dusky face I set among the white For thee to prove thyself of highest worth; Before the world is swallowed up in night, To show thy little lamp: go forth, go forth!

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 Profusely fell; and, tossing coins in praise, The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls, Devoured her with their eager, passionate gaze; But, looking at her falsely-smiling face I knew her self was not in that strange place.

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
Eager to heed desire's insistent 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.

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 the 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 lonely nest
Beside an open glade,
And there forever will we rest,
O love--O nut-brown maid!

SPRING IN NEW HAMPSHIRE

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.

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 hard, the ugly city.

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.

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: O 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.

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; Forgotten is the special, startling season Of some beloved tree'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 I cannot bring back to mind just 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 bye 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 o' 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.

TWO-AN'-SIX

Merry voices chatterin', Nimble feet dem patterin', Big an' little, faces gay, Happy day dis market day.

Sateday, de marnin' break, Soon, soon market-people wake; An' de light shine from de moon While dem boy, wid pantaloon Roll up ober dem knee-pan, 'Tep across de buccra lan' To de pastur whe' de harse Feed along wid de jackass, An' de mule cant' in de track Wid him tail up in him back, All de ketchin' to defy, No ca' how dem boy might try.

In de early marnin'-tide, When de cocks crow on de hill An' de stars are shinin' still, Mirrie by de fireside Hots de coffee for de lads Comin' ridin' on de pads T'rown across dem animul-- Donkey, harse too, an' de mule, Which at last had come do'n cool. On de bit dem hol' dem full: Racin' ober pastur' lan', See dem comin' ebery man, Comin' fe de steamin' tea Ober hilly track an' lea.

Hard-wuk'd donkey on de road Trottin' wid him ushal load, Hamper pack' wi' yam an' grain, Sour-sop, and Gub'nor cane.

Cous' Sun sits in hired dray, Drivin' 'long de market way; Whole week grindin' sugar cane T'rough de boilin' sun an' rain, Now, a'ter de toilin' hard, He goes seekin' his reward, While he's thinkin' in him min' Of de dear ones lef behin', Of de loved though ailin' wife, Darlin' treasure of his life, An' de picknies, six in all, Whose 'nuff burdens 'pon him fall: Seben lovin' ones in need, Seben hungry mouths fe feed; On deir wants he thinks alone, Neber dreamin' of his own, But gwin' on wid joyful face Till him re'ch de market-place.

Sugar bears no price to-day, Though it is de mont' o' May, When de time is hellish hot, An' de water cocoanut An' de cane bebridge is nice, Mix' up wid a lilly ice. Big an' little, great an' small, Afou yam is all de call; Sugar tup an' gill a quart, Yet de people hab de heart Wantin' brater top o' i', Want de sweatin' higgler fe Ram de pan an' pile i' up, Yet sell i' fe so-so tup.

Cousin Sun is lookin' sad, As de market is so bad; 'Pon him han' him res' him chin, Quietly sit do'n thinkin' Of de loved wife sick in bed, An' de children to be fed-- What de laborers would say When dem know him couldn' pay; Also what about de mill Whe' him hire from ole Bill; So him think, an' think on so, Till him t'oughts no more could go.

Then he got up an' began Pickin' up him sugar-pan: In his ears rang t'rough de din "Only two-an'-six a tin'." What a tale he'd got to tell, How bad, bad de sugar sell! Tekin' out de lee amount, Him set do'n an' begin count All de time him min' deh doubt How expenses would pay out; Ah, it gnawed him like de ticks, Sugar sell fe two-an'-six!

So he journeys on de way, Feelinl sad dis market day; No e'en buy a little cake To gi'e baby when she wake,-- Passin' 'long de candy-shop 'Douten eben mek a stop To buy drops fe las'y son, For de lilly cash nea' done. So him re'ch him own a groun', An' de children scamper roun', Each one stretchin' out him han', Lookin' to de poor sad man.

Oh, how much he felt de blow, As he watched dem face fall low, When dem wait an' nuttin' came An' drew back deir han's wid shame! But de sick wife kissed his brow: "Sun, don't get down-hearted now; Ef we only pay expense We mus' wuk we common-sense, Cut an' carve, an' carve an' cut, Mek gill sarbe fe quattiewut; We mus' try mek two ends meet Neber mind how hard be it. We won't mind de haul an' pull, While dem pickny belly full."

An' de shadow lef' him face, An' him felt an inward peace, As he blessed his better part For her sweet an' gentle heart: "Dear one o' my heart, my breat', Won't I lub you to de deat'? When my heart is weak an' sad, Who but you can mek it glad?"

So dey kissed an' kissed again, An' deir t'oughts were not on pain, But was 'way down in de sout' Where dey'd wedded in deir yout', In de marnin' of deir life Free from all de grief an' strife, Happy in de marnin' light, Never thinkin' of de night.

So dey k'lated eberyt'ing; An' de profit it could bring, A'ter all de business fix', Was a princely two-an'-six.

Joseph S. Cotter, Jr.

A PRAYER

As I lie in bed, Flat on my back; There passes across my ceiling An endless panorama of things-- Quick steps of gay-voiced children, Adolescence in its wondering silences, Maid and man on moonlit summer's eve, Women in the holy glow of Motherhood, Old men gazing silently thru the twilight Into the beyond. O God, give me words to make my dream-children live.

AND WHAT SHALL YOU SAY?

Brother, come! And let us go unto our God. And when we stand before Him I shall say-- "Lord, I do not hate, I am hated. I scourge no one, I am scourged. I covet no lands, My lands are coveted. I mock no peoples, My people are mocked." And, brother, what shall you say?

IS IT BECAUSE I AM BLACK?

Why do men smile when I speak, And call my speech The whimperings of a babe That cries but knows not what it wants? Is it because I am black?

Why do men sneer when I arise And stand in their councils, And look them eye to eye, And speak their tongue? Is it because I am black?

THE BAND OF GIDEON

The band of Gideon roam the sky, The howling wind is their war-cry, The thunder's roll is their trump's peal, And the lightning's flash their vengeful steel. Each black cloud Is a fiery steed. And they cry aloud With each strong deed, "The sword of the Lord and Gideon."

And men below rear temples high And mock their God with reasons why, And live in arrogance, sin and shame, And rape their souls for the world's good name. Each black cloud Is a fiery steed. And they cry aloud With each strong deed, "The sword of the Lord and Gideon."

The band of Gideon roam the sky And view the earth with baleful eye; In holy wrath they scourge the land With earth-quake, storm and burning brand. Each black cloud Is a fiery steed. And they cry aloud With each strong deed, "The sword of the Lord and Gideon."

The lightnings flash and the thunders roll, And "Lord have mercy on my soul," Cry men as they fall on the stricken sod, In agony searching for their God. Each black cloud Is a fiery steed. And they cry aloud With each strong deed, "The sword of the Lord and Gideon."

And men repent and then forget That heavenly wrath they ever met, The band of Gideon yet will come And strike their tongues of blasphemy dumb. Each black cloud Is a fiery steed. And they cry aloud With each strong deed, "The sword of the Lord and Gideon."

RAIN MUSIC

On the dusty earth-drum
Beats the falling rain;
Now a whispered murmur,
Now a louder strain.

Slender, silvery drumsticks,
On an ancient drum,
Beat the mellow music
Bidding life to come.

Chords of earth awakened,
Notes of greening spring,
Rise and fall triumphant
Over every thing.

Slender, silvery drumsticks
Beat the long tattoo--
God, the Great Musician,
Calling life anew.

SUPPLICATION

I am so tired and weary,
So tired of the endless fight,
So weary of waiting the dawn
And finding endless night.

That I ask but rest and quiet--
Rest for days that are gone,
And quiet for the little space
That I must journey on.

Roscoe C. Jamison

THE NEGRO SOLDIERS

These truly are the Brave, These men who cast aside Old memories, to walk the blood-stained pave Of Sacrifice, joining the solemn tide That moves away, to suffer and to die For Freedom--when their own is yet denied! O Pride! O Prejudice! When they pass by, Hail them, the Brave, for you now crucified!

These truly are the Free, These souls that grandly rise Above base dreams of vengeance for their wrongs, Who march to war with visions in their eyes Of Peace through Brotherhood, lifting glad songs, Aforetime, while they front the firing line. Stand and behold! They take the field to-day, Shedding their blood like Him now held divine, That those who mock might find a better way!

Jessie Fauset

LA VIE C'EST LA VIE

On summer afternoons I sit Quiescent by you in the park, And idly watch the sunbeams gild And tint the ash-trees' bark.

Or else I watch the squirrels frisk And chaffer in the grassy lane; And all the while I mark your voice Breaking with love and pain.

I know a woman who would give Her chance of heaven to take my place; To see the love-light in your eyes, The love-glow on your face!

And there's a man whose lightest word Can set my chilly blood afire; Fulfilment of his least behest Defines my life's desire.

But he will none of me, Nor I Of you. Nor you of her. 'Tis said The world is full of jests like these.-- I wish that I were dead.

CHRISTMAS EVE IN FRANCE

Oh little Christ, why do you sigh
As you look down to-night
On breathless France, on bleeding France,
And all her dreadful plight?
What bows your childish head so low?
What turns your cheek so white?

Oh little Christ, why do you moan,
What is it that you see
In mourning France, in martyred France,
And her great agony?
Does she recall your own dark day,
Your own Gethsemane?

Oh little Christ, why do you weep,
Why flow your tears so sore
For pleading France, for praying France,
A suppliant at God's door?
"God sweetened not my cup," you say,
"Shall He for France do more?"

Oh little Christ, what can this mean,
Why must this horror be
For fainting France, for faithful France,
And her sweet chivalry?
"I bled to free all men," you say
"France bleeds to keep men free."

Oh little, lovely Christ--you smile!
What guerdon is in store
For gallant France, for glorious France,
And all her valiant corps?
"Behold I live, and France, like me,
Shall live for evermore."

DEAD FIRES

If this is peace, this dead and leaden thing,
Then better far the hateful fret, the sting.
Better the wound forever seeking balm
Than this gray calm!

Is this pain's surcease? Better far the ache,
The long-drawn dreary day, the night's white wake,
Better the choking sigh, the sobbing breath
Than passion's death!

ORIFLAMME

"I can remember when I was a little, young girl, how my old mammy would sit out of doors in the evenings and look up at the stars and groan, and I would say, 'Mammy, what makes you groan so?' And she would say, 'I am groaning to think of my poor children; they do not know where I be and I don't know where they be. I look up at the stars and they look up at the stars!'"--_Sojourner Truth_.

I think I see her sitting bowed and black,
Stricken and seared with slavery's mortal scars,
Reft of her children, lonely, anguished, yet
Still looking at the stars.

Symbolic mother, we thy myriad sons,
Pounding our stubborn hearts on Freedom's bars,
Clutching our birthright, fight with faces set,
Still visioning the stars!

OBLIVION

_From the French of Massillon Coicou (Haiti)_

I hope when I am dead that I shall lie
In some deserted grave--I cannot tell you why,
But I should like to sleep in some neglected spot
Unknown to every one, by every one forgot.

There lying I should taste with my dead breath
The utter lack of life, the fullest sense of death;
And I should never hear the note of jealousy or hate,
The tribute paid by passersby to tombs of state.

To me would never penetrate the prayers and tears
That futilely bring torture to dead and dying ears;
There I should lie annihilate and my dead heart would bless
Oblivion--the shroud and envelope of happiness.

Anne Spencer

BEFORE THE FEAST OF SHUSHAN

Garden of Shushan! After Eden, all terrace, pool, and flower recollect thee: Ye weavers in saffron and haze and Tyrian purple, Tell yet what range in color wakes the eye; Sorcerer, release the dreams born here when Drowsy, shifting palm-shade enspells the brain; And sound! ye with harp and flute ne'er essay Before these star-noted birds escaped from paradise awhile to Stir all dark, and dear, and passionate desire, till mine Arms go out to be mocked by the softly kissing body of the wind-- Slave, send Vashti to her King!

The fiery wattles of the sun startle into flame The marbled towers of Shushan: So at each day's wane, two peers--the one in Heaven, the other on earth--welcome with their Splendor the peerless beauty of the Queen.

Cushioned at the Queen's feet and upon her knee Finding glory for mine head,--still, nearly shamed Am I, the King, to bend and kiss with sharp Breath the olive-pink of sandaled toes between; Or lift me high to the magnet of a gaze, dusky, Like the pool when but the moon-ray strikes to its depth; Or closer press to crush a grape 'gainst lips redder Than the grape, a rose in the night of her hair; Then--Sharon's Rose in my arms.

And I am hard to force the petals wide; And you are fast to suffer and be sad. Is any prophet come to teach a new thing Now in a more apt time? Have him 'maze how you say love is sacrament; How says Vashti, love is both bread and wine; How to the altar may not come to break and drink, Hulky flesh nor fleshly spirit!

I, thy lord, like not manna for meat as a Judahn; I, thy master, drink, and red wine, plenty, and when I thirst. Eat meat, and full, when I hunger. I, thy King, teach you and leave you, when I list. No woman in all Persia sets out strange action To confuse Persia's lord-- Love is but desire and thy purpose fulfillment; I, thy King, so say!

AT THE CARNIVAL

Gay little Girl-of-the-Diving-Tank, I desire a name for you, Nice, as a right glove fits; For you--who amid the malodorous Mechanics of this unlovely thing, Are darling of spirit and form. I know you--a glance, and what you are Sits-by-the-fire in my heart. My Limousine-Lady knows you, or Why does the slant-envy of her eye mark Your straight air and radiant inclusive smile? Guilt pins a fig-leaf; Innocence is its own adorning. The bull-necked man knows you--this first time His itching flesh sees form divine and vibrant health And thinks not of his avocation. I came incuriously-- Set on no diversion save that my mind Might safely nurse its brood of misdeeds In the presence of a blind crowd. The color of life was gray. Everywhere the setting seemed right For my mood. Here the sausage and garlic booth Sent unholy incense skyward; There a quivering female-thing Gestured assignations, and lied To call it dancing; There, too, were games of chance With chances for none; But oh! Girl-of-the-Tank, at last! Gleaming Girl, how intimately pure and free The gaze you send the crowd, As though you know the dearth of beauty In its sordid life. We need you--my Limousine-Lady, The bull-necked man and I. Seeing you here brave and water-clean, Leaven for the heavy ones of earth, I am swift to feel that what makes The plodder glad is good; and Whatever is good is God. The wonder is that you are here; I have seen the queer in queer places, But never before a heaven-fed Naiad of the Carnival-Tank! Little Diver, Destiny for you, Like as for me, is shod in silence; Years may seep into your soul The bacilli of the usual and the expedient; I implore Neptune to claim his child to-day!

THE WIFE-WOMAN

Maker-of-Sevens in the scheme of things From earth to star; Thy cycle holds whatever is fate, and Over the border the bar. Though rank and fierce the mariner Sailing the seven seas, He prays, as he holds his glass to his eyes, Coaxing the Pleiades.

I cannot love them; and I feel your glad Chiding from the grave, That my all was only worth at all, what Joy to you it gave. These seven links the _Law_ compelled For the human chain-- I cannot love _them_; and _you_, oh, Seven-fold months in Flanders slain!

A jungle there, a cave here, bred six And a million years, Sure and strong, mate for mate, such Love as culture fears; I gave you clear the oil and wine; You saved me your hob and hearth-- See how _even_ life may be ere the Sickle comes and leaves a swath.

But I can wait the seven of moons, Or years I spare, Hoarding the heart's plenty, nor spend A drop, nor share-- So long but outlives a smile and A silken gown; Then gaily I reach up from my shroud, And you, glory-clad, reach down.

TRANSLATION

We trekked into a far country, My friend and I. Our deeper content was never spoken, But each knew all the other said. He told me how calm his soul was laid By the lack of anvil and strife. "The wooing kestrel," I said, "mutes his mating-note To please the harmony of this sweet silence." And when at the day's end We laid tired bodies 'gainst The loose warm sands, And the air fleeced its particles for a coverlet; When star after star came out To guard their lovers in oblivion-- My soul so leapt that my evening prayer Stole my morning song!

DUNBAR

Ah, how poets sing and die! Make one song and Heaven takes it; Have one heart and Beauty breaks it; Chatterton, Shelley, Keats and I-- Ah, how poets sing and die!

Alex Rogers

WHY ADAM SINNED

"I heeard da ole folks talkin' in our house da other night 'Bout Adam in da scripchuh long ago. Da lady folks all 'bused him, sed, he knowed it wus'n right An' 'cose da men folks dey all sed, "Dat's so." I felt sorry fuh Mistuh Adam, an' I felt like puttin' in, 'Cause I knows mo' dan dey do, all 'bout whut made Adam sin:

Adam nevuh had no Mammy, fuh to take him on her knee An' teach him right fum wrong an' show him Things he ought to see. I knows down in my heart--he'd-a let dat apple be But Adam nevuh had no dear old Ma-am-my.

He nevuh knowed no chilehood roun' da ole log cabin do', He nevuh knowed no pickaninny life. He started in a great big grown up man, an' whut is mo', He nevuh had da right kind uf a wife. Jes s'pose he'd had a Mammy when dat temptin' did begin An' she'd a come an' tole him "Son, don' eat dat--dat's a sin."

But, Adam nevuh had no Mammy fuh to take him on her knee An' teach him right fum wrong an' show him Things he ought to see. I knows down in my heart he'd a let dat apple be, But Adam nevuh had no dear old Ma-am-my.

THE RAIN SONG

_Bro. Simmons_

"Walk right in Brother Wilson--how you feelin' today?"

_Bro. Wilson_

"Jes Mod'rate, Brother Simmons, but den I ginnerly feels dat way."

_Bro. Simmons_

"Here's White an' Black an' Brown an' Green; how's all you gent'men's been?",

_Bro. White_

"My health is good but my bus'ness slack."

_Bro. Black_

"I'se been suff'rin' lots wid pains in my back."

_Bro. Brown_

"My ole 'ooman's sick, but I'se alright--"

_Bro. Green_

"Yes, I went aftuh Doctuh fuh her 'tuther night--"

_Bro. Simmons_

"Here's Sandy Turner, as I live!"

_Bro. Turner_

"Yes, I didn' 'spect to git here--but here I is!"

_Bro. Simmons_

"Now, gent'mens, make yo'selves to home, Dare's nothin' to fear--my ole 'ooman's gone-- My stars; da weather's pow'ful warm-- I wouldn' be s'prised ef we had a storm."

_Bro. Brown_

"No, Brother Simmons, we kin safely say-- 'Tain't gwine to be no storm to-day Kase here am facts dat's mighty plain An' any time you sees 'em you kin look fuh rain: Any time you hears da cheers an' tables crack An' da folks wid rheumatics--dare jints is on da rack--"

_All_

"Lookout fuh rain, rain, rain.

"When da ducks quack loud an' da peacocks cry, An' da far off hills seems to be right nigh, Prepare fuh rain, rain, rain!

"When da ole cat on da hearth wid her velvet paws 'Gins to wipin' over her whiskered jaws, Sho' sign o' rain, rain, rain!

"When da frog's done changed his yaller vest, An' in his brown suit he is dressed, Mo' rain, an' still mo' rain!

"When you notice da air it Stan's stock still, An' da blackbird's voice it gits so awful shrill, Dat am da time fuh rain.

"When yo' dog quits bones an' begins to fas', An' when you see him eatin'; he's eatin' grass: Shoes', trues', cert'nes sign ob rain!"

_Refrain_

"No, Brother Simmons, we kin safely say, 'Tain't gwine tuh be no rain to-day, Kase da sut ain't fallin' an' da dogs ain't sleep, An' you ain't seen no spiders fum dare cobwebs creep; Las' night da sun went bright to bed, An' da moon ain't nevah once been seen to hang her head; If you'se watched all dis, den you kin safely say, Dat dare ain't a-gwine to be no rain to-day."

Waverley Turner Carmichael

KEEP ME, JESUS, KEEP ME

Keep me 'neath Thy mighty wing, Keep me, Jesus, keep me; Help me praise Thy Holy name, Keep me, Jesus, keep me. O my Lamb, come, my Lamb, O my good Lamb, Save me, Jesus, save me.

Hear me as I cry to Thee; Keep me, Jesus, keep me; May I that bright glory see; Keep me, Jesus, keep me. O my Lamb, my good Lamb, O my good Lamb, Keep me, Jesus, keep me.

WINTER IS COMING

De winter days are drawin' nigh An' by the fire I sets an' sigh; De nothe'n win' is blowin' cold, Like it done in days of old.

De yaller leafs are fallin' fas', Fur summer days is been an' pas'; The air is blowin' mighty cold, Like it done in days of old.

De frost is fallin' on de gras' An' seem to say "Dis is yo' las'"-- De air is blowin' mighty cold Like it done in days of old.

Alice Dunbar-Nelson

SONNET

I had no thought of violets of late, The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet In wistful April days, when lovers mate And wander through the fields in raptures sweet. The thought of violets meant florists' shops, And bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine; And garish lights, and mincing little fops And cabarets and songs, and deadening wine. So far from sweet real things my thoughts had strayed, I had forgot wide fields, and clear brown streams; The perfect loveliness that God has made,-- Wild violets shy and Heaven-mounting dreams. And now--unwittingly, you've made me dream Of violets, and my soul's forgotten gleam.

Charles Bertram Johnson

A LITTLE CABIN

Des a little cabin Big ernuff fur two. Des awaitin', honey, Cozy fixt fur you; Down dah by de road, Not ve'y far from town, Waitin' fur de missis, When she's ready to come down.

Des a little cabin, An' er acre o' groun', Vines agrowin' on it, Fruit trees all aroun', Hollyhawks a-bloomin' In de gyahden plot-- Honey, would you like to Own dat little spot?

Make dat little cabin Cheery, clean an' bright, With an' angel in it Like a ray of light? Make dat little palace Somethin' fine an' gran', Make it like an Eden, Fur a lonely man?

Des you listen, Honey, While I 'splain it all, How some lady's go'nter Boss dat little hall; Des you take my ban' Dat's de way it's writ, Des you take my heart, Dat's de deed to it.

NEGRO POETS

Full many lift and sing Their sweet imagining; Not yet the Lyric Seer, The one bard of the throng, With highest gift of song, Breaks on our sentient ear.

Not yet the gifted child, With notes enraptured, wild, That storm and throng the heart, To make his rage our own, Our hearts his lyric throne; Hard won by cosmic art.

I hear the sad refrain, Of slavery's sorrow-strain; The broken half-lispt speech Of freedom's twilit hour; The greater growing reach Of larger latent power.

Here and there a growing note Swells from a conscious throat; Thrilled with a message fraught The pregnant hour is near; We wait our Lyric Seer, By whom our wills are caught.

Who makes our cause and wrong The motif of his song; Who sings our racial good, Bestows us honor's place, The cosmic brotherhood Of genius--not of race.

Blind Homer, Greek or Jew, Of fame's immortal few Would still be deathless born; Frail Dunbar, black or white, In Fame's eternal light, Would shine a Star of Morn.

An unhorizoned range, Our hour of doubt and change, Gives song a nightless day, Whose pen with pregnant mirth Will give our longings birth, And point our souls the way?

Otto Leland Bohanan

THE DAWN'S AWAKE!

The Dawn's awake!
A flash of smoldering flame and fire
Ignites the East. Then, higher, higher,
O'er all the sky so gray, forlorn,
The torch of gold is borne.

The Dawn's awake!
The dawn of a thousand dreams and thrills.
And music singing in the hills
A paean of eternal spring
Voices the new awakening.

The Dawn's awake!
Whispers of pent-up harmonies,
With the mingled fragrance of the trees;
Faint snatches of half-forgotten song--
Fathers! torn and numb,--
The boon of light we craved, awaited long,
Has come, has come!

THE WASHER-WOMAN

A great swart cheek and the gleam of tears, The flutter of hopes and the shadow of fears, And all day long the rub and scrub With only a breath betwixt tub and tub. Fool! Thou hast toiled for fifty years And what hast thou now but thy dusty tears? In silence she rubbed... But her face I had seen, Where the light of her soul fell shining and clean.

Theodore Henry Shackelford

THE BIG BELL IN ZION

Come, children, hear the joyful sound,
Ding, Dong, Ding.
Go spread the glad news all around,
Ding, Dong, Ding.

_Chorus_
Oh, the big bell's tollin' up in Zion,
The big bell's tollin' up in Zion,
The big bell's tollin' up in Zion,
Ding, Dong, Ding.

I've been abused and tossed about,
Ding, Dong, Ding.
But glory to the Lamb, I shout!
Ding, Dong, Ding.

My bruthah jus' sent word to me,
Ding, Dong, Ding.
That he'd done set his own self free.
Ding, Dong, Ding.

Ole massa said he could not go,
Ding, Dong, Ding.
But he's done reached Ohio sho'.
Ding, Dong, Ding.

Ise gwine to be real nice an' meek,
Ding, Dong, Ding.
Den I'll run away myself nex' week.
Ding, Dong, Ding.

_Chorus_

Oh, the big bell's tollin' up in Zion,
The big bell's tollin' up in Zion,
The big bell's tollin' up in Zion,
Ding, Dong Ding.

Lucian B. Watkins

STAR OF ETHIOPIA

Out in the Night thou art the sun Toward which thy soul-charmed children run, The faith-high height whereon they see The glory of their Day To Be-- The peace at last when all is done.

The night is dark but, one by one,
Thy signals, ever and anon,
Smile beacon answers to their plea,
Out in the Night.

Ah, Life! thy storms these cannot shun;
Give them a hope to rest upon,
A dream to dream eternally,
The strength of men who would be free
And win the battle race begun,
Out in the Night!

TWO POINTS OF VIEW

From this low-lying valley; Oh, how sweet And cool and calm and great is life, I ween, There on yon mountain-throne--that sun-gold crest!

From this uplifted, mighty mountain-seat: How bright and still and warm and soft and green Seems yon low lily-vale of peace and rest!

TO OUR FRIENDS

We've kept the faith. Our souls' high dreams
Untouched by bondage and its rod,
Burn on! and on! and on! It seems
We shall have FRIENDS--while God is God!

Benjamin Brawley

MY HERO

(_To Robert Gould Shaw_)

Flushed with the hope of high desire,
He buckled on his sword,
To dare the rampart ranged with fire,
Or where the thunder roared;
Into the smoke and flame he went,
For God's great cause to die--
A youth of heaven's element,
The flower of chivalry.

This was the gallant faith, I trow,
Of which the sages tell;
On such devotion long ago
The benediction fell;
And never nobler martyr burned,
Or braver hero died,
Than he who worldly honor spurned
To serve the Crucified.

And Lancelot and Sir Bedivere
May pass beyond the pale,
And wander over moor and mere
To find the Holy Grail;

But ever yet the prize forsooth
My hero holds in fee;
And he is Blameless Knight in truth,
And Galahad to me.

CHAUCER

Gone are the sensuous stars, and manifold, Clear sunbeams burst upon the front of night; Ten thousand swords of azure and of gold Give darkness to the dark and welcome light; Across the night of ages strike the gleams, And leading on the gilded host appears An old man writing in a book of dreams, And telling tales of lovers for the years; Still Troilus hears a voice that whispers, Stay; In Nature's garden what a mad rout sings! Let's hear these motley pilgrims wile away The tedious hours with stories of old things; Or might some shining eagle claim These lowly numbers for the House of Fame!

Joshua Henry Jones, Jr.

TO A SKULL

Ghastly, ghoulish, grinning skull, Toothless, eyeless, hollow, dull, Why your smirk and empty smile As the hours away you wile? Has the earth become such bore That it pleases nevermore? Whence your joy through sun and rain? Is 't because of loss of pain? Have you learned what men learn not That earth's substance turns to rot? After learning now you scan Vain endeavors man by man? Do you mind that you as they Once was held by mystic sway; Dreamed and struggled, hoped and prayed, Lolled and with the minutes played? Sighed for honors; battles planned; Sipped of cups that wisdom banned But would please the weak frail flesh; Suffered, fell, 'rose, struggled fresh? Now that you are but a skull Glimpse you life as life is, full Of beauties that we miss Till time withers with his kiss? Do you laugh in cynic vein Since you cannot try again? And you know that we, like you, Will too late our failings rue? Tell me, ghoulish, grinning skull What deep broodings, o'er you mull? Tell me why you smirk and smile Ere I pass life's sunset stile.