Jean Toomer

(26 December 1894 – 30 March 1967 / Washington D.C.)

Evening Song


Full moon rising on the waters of my heart,
Lakes and moon and fires,
Cloine tires,
Holding her lips apart.

Promises of slumber leaving shore to charm the moon,
Miracle made vesper-keeps,
Cloine sleeps,
And I'll be sleeping soon.

Cloine, curled like the sleepy waters whtere the moonwaves start,
Radiant, resplendently she gleams,
Cloine dreams,
Lips pressed against my heart.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • Lamont Palmer (12/5/2012 8:27:00 AM)

    Perhaps the greatest poet of the Harlem Renaissance; better than Langston Hughes, if not as accessible and joyful. (Report) Reply

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