Oh, I have tried to laugh the pain away,
Let new flames brush my love-springs like a feather.
But the old fever seizes me to-day,
As sickness grips a soul in wretched weather.
I have given up myself to every urge,
With not a care of precious powers spent,
Have bared my body to the strangest scourge,
To soothe and deaden my heart's unhealing rent.
But you have torn a nerve out of my frame,
A gut that no physician can replace,
And reft my life of happiness and aim.
Oh what new purpose shall I now embrace?
What substance hold, what lovely form pursue,
When my thought burns through everything to you?
Claude McKay's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Futility by Claude McKay )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost
- "Hope" is the thing with feathers, Emily Dickinson
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