Claude McKay

(15 September 1889 – 22 May 1948 / Clarendon)

Claude McKay Poems

1. Joy In The Woods 3/21/2012
2. Two-An'-Six 4/3/2010
3. Winter In The Country 1/3/2003
4. Wild May 1/3/2003
5. Homing Swallows 1/3/2003
6. Polarity 1/3/2003
7. Russian Cathedral 1/3/2003
8. To O.E.A. 1/3/2003
9. On A Primitive Canoe 1/3/2003
10. La Paloma In London 1/3/2003
11. Tormented 1/3/2003
12. Morning Joy 1/3/2003
13. To Winter 1/3/2003
14. Poetry 1/3/2003
15. One Year After 1/3/2003
16. The Plateau 1/3/2003
17. Memorial 1/3/2003
18. In Bondage 1/3/2003
19. Subway Wind 1/3/2003
20. To One Coming North 1/3/2003
21. O Word I Love To Sing 1/3/2003
22. Jasmines 1/3/2003
23. Summer Morn In New Hampshire 1/3/2003
24. On Broadway 1/3/2003
25. The Castaways 1/3/2003
26. North And South 1/3/2003
27. Through Agony 1/3/2003
28. The Wild Goat 1/3/2003
29. The Barrier 1/3/2003
30. The Easter Flower 1/3/2003
31. Futility 1/3/2003
32. When Dawn Comes To The City 1/3/2003
33. The White House 1/20/2003
34. Thirst 1/3/2003
35. To A Poet 1/3/2003
36. Spring In New Hampshire 1/3/2003
37. Home Thoughts 1/3/2003
38. Rest In Peace 1/3/2003
39. The Night-Fire 1/3/2003
40. The Tropics In New York 1/3/2003

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Best Poem of Claude McKay

America

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth!
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate.
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time's unerring hand,
Like priceless...

Read the full of America

Flame-Heart

So much have I forgotten in ten years,
So much in ten brief years! I have forgot
What time the purple apples come to juice,
And what month brings the shy forget-me-not.
I have forgot the special, startling season
Of the pimento's flowering and fruiting;
What time of year the ground doves brown the fields
And fill the noonday with their curious fluting.
I have forgotten much, but still remember

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