The Book of American Negro Poetry Part 17

LOST ILLUSIONS

Oh, for the veils of my far away youth, Shielding my heart from the blaze of the truth, Why did I stray from their shelter and grow Into the sadness that follows--to know!

Impotent atom with desolate gaze Threading the tumult of hazardous ways-- Oh, for the veils, for the veils of my youth Veils that hung low o'er the blaze of the truth!

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 n.o.bly 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 prost.i.tutes 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 pa.s.sing 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, pa.s.sionate 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 la.s.s In Negro Harlem when the night lets fall Its veil. I see the shapes of girls who pa.s.s 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 gra.s.s, 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