#Americans #Blacks
The night is beautiful, So the faces of my people. The stars are beautiful, So the eyes of my people. Beautiful, also, is the sun.
Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal… It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up,
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
And that is what poetry may do, wrap up your dreams, protect and preserve and hold them until maybe they come true. Columbus dreamed of finding a new world, he found it. Edison dreamed ...
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
The gold moth did not love him So, gorgeous, she flew away. But the gray moth circled the flam… Until the break of day. And then, with wings like a dead d…
She, In the dark, Found light Brighter than many ever see. She,
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
In the Quarter of the Negroes Where the doors are doors of paper Dust of dingy atoms Blows a scratchy sound. Amorphous jack—o’—Lanterns caper
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill