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''All day long and all night through,
One thing only must I do:
Quench my pride and cool my blood,
Lest I perish in the flood.''
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Countee Cullen (1903-1946), U.S. poet. Heritage (l. 116-119). . .
My Soul's High Song; the Collected Writings of Countee Cullen, Voice of the Harl...
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''What is last year's snow to me,
Last year's anything? The tree
Budding yearly must forget
How its past arose or set—''
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Countee Cullen (1903-1946), U.S. poet. Heritage (l. 52-55). . .
My Soul's High Song; the Collected Writings of Countee Cullen, Voice of the Harlem...
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''Lord, I fashion dark gods, too,
Daring even to give You
Dark despairing features''
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Countee Cullen (1903-1946), U.S. poet. Heritage (l. 107-108). . .
My Soul's High Song; the Collected Writings of Countee Cullen, Voice of the Harl...
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''What is Africa to me:
Copper sun or scarlet sea,
Jungle star or jungle track,
Strong bronzed men, or regal black
Women from whose loins I sprang
When the birds of Eden sang?''
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Countee Cullen (1903-1946), U.S. poet. Heritage (l. 1-6). . .
My Soul's High Song; the Collected Writings of Countee Cullen, Voice of the Harlem R...
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''Not yet has my heart or head
In the least way realized
They and I are civilized.''
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Countee Cullen (1903-1946), U.S. poet. Heritage (l. 125-127). . .
My Soul's High Song; the Collected Writings of Countee Cullen, Voice of the Harl...
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''Africa? A book one thumbs
Listlessly, till slumber comes.''
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Countee Cullen (1903-1946), U.S. poet. Heritage (l. 31-32). . .
My Soul's High Song; the Collected Writings of Countee Cullen, Voice of the Harlem...
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''Now I was eight and very small,
And he was no whit bigger,
And so I smiled, but he poked out
His tongue, and called me, "Nigger."''
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Countee Cullen (1903-1946), U.S. poet. Incident (l. 5-8). . .
My Soul's High Song; the Collected Writings of Countee Cullen, Voice of the Harlem R...
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''Dame Poverty gave me my name,
And Pain godfathered me.''
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Countee Cullen (1903-1946), U.S. poet. Saturday's Child (l. 11-12). . .
My Soul's High Song; the Collected Writings of Countee Cullen, Voice of th...
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''Death cut the strings that gave me life,
And handed me to Sorrow,
The only kind of middle wife
My folks could beg or borrow.''
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Countee Cullen (1903-1946), U.S. poet. Saturday's Child (l. 17-20). . .
My Soul's High Song; the Collected Writings of Countee Cullen, Voice of th...
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''I cut my teeth as the black raccoon—
For implements of battle.''
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Countee Cullen (1903-1946), U.S. poet. Saturday's Child (l. 3-4). . .
My Soul's High Song; the Collected Writings of Countee Cullen, Voice of the ...
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From the Dark Tower
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We shall not always plant while others reap
The golden increment of bursting fruit,
Not always countenance, abject and mute,
That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap;
Not everlastingly while others sleep
Shall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute,
Not always bend to some more subtle brute;
We were not made to eternally weep.
The night whose sable breast relieves the stark,
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Poets
