Countee Cullen Poems

Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.
...

What is Africa to me:
Copper sun or scarlet sea,
Jungle star or jungle track,
Strong bronzed men, or regal black
...

All through an empty place I go,
And find her not in any room;
The candles and the lamps I light
Go down before a wind of gloom.
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With two white roses on her breasts,
White candles at head and feet,
Dark Madonna of the grave she rests;
Lord Death has found her sweet.
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Dead men are wisest, for they know
How far the roots of flowers go,
How long a seed must rot to grow.
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My father is a quiet man
With sober, steady ways;
For simile, a folded fan;
His nights are like his days.
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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;
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"Lord, being dark," I said, "I cannot bear
The further touch of earth, the scented air;
Lord, being dark, forewilled to that despair
My color shrouds me in, I am as dirt
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I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth,
And laid them away in a box of gold;
Where long will cling the lips of the moth,
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth;
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Then call me traitor if you must,
Shout reason and default!
Say I betray a sacred trust
Aching beyond this vault.
...