William Edward Burghardt Du Bois


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William Edward Burghardt "W. E. B." Du Bois (pronounced /duːˈbɔɪz/ doo-BOYZ; February 23, 1868 – August 27, 1963) was an American sociologist, historian, civil rights activist, Pan-Africanist, author and editor. Born in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, Du Bois grew up in a relatively tolerant and integrated community. After graduating from Harvard, where he was the first African American... more »

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  • ''There are certain books in the world which every searcher for truth must know: the Bible, the Critique of Pure Reason, the Origin of Species, and Karl Marx's Capital.''
    W.E.B. (William Edward Burghardt) Du Bois (1868-1963), U.S. civil rights leader, author. repr. (1971). "Communism, Marxism and the Negro Problem," The...
  • ''If there is anybody in this land who thoroughly believes that the meek shall inherit the earth they have not often let their presence be known.''
    W.E.B. (William Edward Burghardt) Du Bois (1868-1963), U.S. civil rights leader, author. The Gift of Black Folk, ch. 9 (1924).
  • ''To be a poor man is hard, but to be a poor race in a land of dollars is the very bottom of hardships.''
    W.E.B. (William Edward Burghardt) Du Bois (1868-1963), U.S. civil rights leader, author. The Souls of Black Folk, ch. 1 (1903).
  • ''We black men seem the sole oasis of simple faith and reverence in a dusty desert of dollars and smartness.''
    W.E.B. (William Edward Burghardt) Du Bois (1868-1963), U.S. civil rights leader, author. The Souls of Black Folk, ch. 1 (1903).
  • ''An American, a Negro ... two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.''
    W.E.B. (William Edward Burghardt) Du Bois (1868-1963), U.S. civil rights leader, author. The Souls of Black Folk, ch. 1 (1903). "The history of th...
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Best Poem of William Edward Burghardt Du Bois

The Song Of The Smoke

I am the Smoke King
I am black!
I am swinging in the sky,
I am wringing worlds awry;
I am the thought of the throbbing mills,
I am the soul of the soul-toil kills,
Wraith of the ripple of trading rills;
Up I'm curling from the sod,
I am whirling home to God;
I am the Smoke King
I am black.

I am the Smoke King,
I am black!
I am wreathing broken hearts,
I am sheathing love's light darts;
Inspiration of iron times
Wedding the toil of toiling climes,
Shedding the blood of bloodless crimes—
Lurid lowering 'mid the ...

Read the full of The Song Of The Smoke

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