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About me young and careless feet
About Soho we went before the light
After the fevered days, the restless nights
Aleta mentions in her tender letters
Alfonso is a handsome bronze-hued lad
All dat week was cold an’ dreary
All night, through the eternity of night
All of his flesh has fallen away
All things seem fixed
All yesterday it poured, and all night long
Although she feeds me bread of bitterness
America said: Now, we’ve left Europe’s soil
The American white man is so vastly vain
Ancestral Spirit, hidden from my sight
And also Negro writers are being made
And no white liberal is the Negro’s friend
And thus, I may be reaching those who mourn
Applauding youths laughed with young prostitutes
Around me roar and crash the pagan isms
As flower dust is driven down the wind
At first you’ll joy to see the playful snow
At night the wide and level stretch of wold
At the sign of the crows
Bananas ripe and green, and ginger-root
Batch o’ p’licemen, lookin’ fine
Because I am the white man’s son—his own
Big, little white man had his mind made up
Black intellectuals deep dive for the bait
The blind, the almost dumb and the insane
Bow down my soul in worship very low
Can you leave me so, my Dan
Clarendon hills, my homeland hills, farewell
Come, come wid me, my tired soul
Come give to me a smile, a kiss
The Communists know how Negro life’s restricted
The conquering Moor an homage paid to Spain
Contemplating exquisite flesh aglow
Corn an’ peas growin’ t’ick an’ fas’
Corpy, it pinch me so
The crimson rides the universal wind
The dancers have departed, dear
Darlin’, though you lub me still
The Dawn! The Dawn! The crimson-tinted, comes
De Christmas is finish’
De mango tree in yellow bloom
De mo’ me wuk, de mo’ time hard
De mule dem in de pasture an’ de donkey ’pon red groun’
Dear comrades, my comrades
Dere is a rest-place for de weary feet
Dere is Christmas in de air
Dere is no land dat can compare
Dere’s a little anxious crowd
Dey read ’em again an’ again
Fancy o’ me childish will
Far down, down through the city’s great, gaunt gut
Farewell, dear Sir, a sad farewell
Far from this foreign Easter damp and chilly
Far in de country let me hide myself
The fog prevails above all in my mind
For one brief golden moment rare like wine
For one soul saved from wreck so many lost
For the dim regions whence my fathers came
For this peculiar tint that paints my house
From de top o’ Clarendon hill
Fus’ beginnin’, flat-foot drill
God gave you power to build and help and lift
Green mancha mek fe naygur man
Growin’ by de corner-stone
Heart of the saffron rose
He couldn’t fight the clever Huns in France
He crouches strangely in the little bed
He has battled with Earth
Here, passing lonely down this quiet lane
Higher fly, my pretty kite
High ramparts, tombs and mosques and mansions vaunting
His Spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven
Hollywood is our first and greatest source
How excellently there among the hills
How like a fixed and fortressed rock she stands
“Husban’, I am goin’”
I am downhearted not, although it seems
I could not hate the German or the Jews
I dared not look at him
I do not go to church in search of God
I feel quite proud of my black African face
If I could bring you back once more
If I were white I’d be in Hollywood
If we must die, let it not be like hogs
If you lub me, Joanie, only tell me, dear
If you must drink it, do not come
If you promise to lub me alway
I have a póliceman down at de Bay
I have returned, but you will never find
I hear the halting footsteps of a lass
I’m aweary weary standin’, wid me heart chock-full o’ grief
I’m happy that you graduated high
I must not gaze at them although
I’m utterly entranced by Westbrook Pegler
In Barcelona town they dance the nights
In Black Harlem they held a little meeting
In de blazin’ midday heat, when I’m posted on me beat
In de fus’ squad an’ de front rank
In Ethiopia there are black Jews
In every place, however high, they lurk
In “kingdom,” occult haunt and cabaret
In Southern states distinctions that they draw
Into the furnace let me go alone
I plucked my soul out of its secret place
I shall love you ever
I shall return again; I shall return
Is it worth while
I t’ink of childhood days again
It is the Negro’s tragedy I feel
I took my marnin’ bat’ alone
I turn to God for greater strength to fight
It was the silver, heart-enveloping view
It was the white man’s way to build together
It would not stop
I’ve a longin’ in me dept’s of heart dat I can conquer not
I vividly recall the noonday hour
I was never ashamed o’ de soil
I watched him as his cheek grew pale
I will not reason, wrestle here with you
I will not toy with it nor bend an inch
I wonder who these wealthy whites are fooling
I would be wandering in distant fields
The Japanese struck without declaring war
Jes’ do’n de track ya, me Partie, oh hush
The key was turned and opened wide the door
Kiss me, as you want it so
Ko how de jackass
Last night I dreamed that in the deadly strife
Last night I heard your voice, mother
“Lelia gal, why in this town do you stay”
Let me go, Joe, for I want go home
Life will continue so for aye
Like a strong tree that in the virgin earth
Like vivid scenes stamped on a keen child’s mind
Little comrade, never min’
The little peoples of the troubled earth
Long struggling under the Imperial heel
Lord, let me not be silent while we fight
Lord of the Infinite, proclaim the Peace
Lord, shall I find it in Thy Holy Church
Loved Clarendon hills
Lovely dainty Spanish needle
Me an’ de corpy drink we rum
Me Lard! me caan’ bear it no mo’
Me mus’ wukin overdue
Men always fight by nations, tribes or groups
Merry voices chatterin’
The Middle Ages which they say were dark
’Mid the discordant noises of the day I hear thee calling
The millionaire from Boston likes to write
Mine eyes saw Fez, my heart exclaimed Baghdad
The moonlight breaks upon the city’s towers
Moscow for many loving her was dead
The mummers mass in Lenox Avenue
My body quivers to the needle’s sting
My comrade true
My Jubba waiting dere fe me
My love she is sweet, and my love she is brown
My soul, athirst, drinks eagerly the dew
My spirit is a pestilential city
My spirit wails for water, water now
My Werther days you ask me to forget
Nay, why reproach each other, be unkind
The Negro critic has his special way
The Neva moves majestically on
The New York critics say, when Shakespeare wrote
No engines shrieking rescue storm the night
No lady of the land will praise my book
No more for you the city’s thorny ways
No palm me up, you dutty brute
No servile little fear shall daunt my will
Not once in all our days of poignant love
Now I should like to ask for illustration
Now, really I have never cared a damn
Now the dead past seems vividly alive
Of all de people I don’t like
Of all the sects I hate the Communists
Of course, we have Democracy but it
Oh breezes blowing on the red hill-top
Oh can a Negro chant a hymn
Oh cities are a fever in my blood
Oh filthily they run the tenements
Oh, how exasperating are the antics
Oh how they wrapped them in a maze of lies
Oh, I have tried to laugh the pain away
Oh, let us have a real good time tonight
Oh, lovely fountain bubbling in my breast
Oh Marcus Garvey! They who hated you
Oh, one was black of the wise men of the East
Oh, science keeps marching on from Time to Time
Oh shall those Holy Ages come again
Oh something just now must be happening there
Oh we have fled the world’s most splendid town
Oh when I think of my long-suffering race
Oh wistful and heartrending earth, oh land
Oh wonder steel and stone that make New York
O lonely heart so timid of approach
Once poets in their safe and calm retreat
One dilettante, a prince of his profession
One-tenth of India remains untouchable
O sweet are tropic lands for waking dreams
Our boys and girls are taught in Negro schools
Out of the vibrant body comes a song
O whisper, O my soul! The afternoon
O word I love to sing! thou art too tender
O, you sons of Afric’s soil
O you would clothe me in silken frocks
Pam-pa-pam, pam-pa-pam, pam-pa-pam
“The peace that passeth all understanding”
The perfume of your body dulls my sense
Poinsettias in the high Jamaica hills
Reg wished me to go with him to the field
Reveille! de reveille soun’
Rich is the flavor of this Harlem street
Roar of the rushing train fearfully rocking
The roosters give the signal for daybreak
Run ober mango trees
The Russian advocates drive high-powered cars
Samson, the chosen Nazarite, who ruled
Say if you lub me, do tell me truly
Scarce can I believe my eyes
See yonder soldier-lad
Some day, when trees have shed their leaves
Some Negroes say that Jesus Christ was swart
Sometimes I tremble like a storm-swept flower
So much have I forgotten in ten years
Spain has no beauty like this silver rod
Startling like sudden fires sapping sedges
The statesmen-hirelings its favour seek
Stay, season of calm love and soulful snows
Stay your hasty hands, my comrades
The sun sought thy dim bed and brought forth light
Sweet, be your body a rare figured rug
Sweetheart, I have loved you well
Sweet life! how lovely to be here
Swift swallows sailing from the Spanish main
Tell me not what love is because I know
Their shadow dims the sunshine of our day
There is a lovely noise about your name
There is a new thing, pretty and dime-bright
There is joy in the woods just now
There is no wisdom in your ways for me
There’ll be no more riotin’
There was a haughty spirit and impressive
There was a time when in late afternoon
These intellectuals do not want to face
These poems distilled from my experience
They are not bountiful now as before
They hate me, black and white, for I am never
They have a colored actor in this land
They say in Harlem that I’m pretty washed up
They’ve taken thee out of the simple soil
Think ye I am not fiend and savage, too
This is the New World that we left the old
Thou art the issue of the Prince of Peace
Though, Johnnie, so sweetly you’re singin’
Thou sweet-voiced stream that first gavest me drink
Thousands of years ago the Prophet said
Through the pregnant universe rumbles life’s terrific thunder
Throughout the afternoon I watched them there
Thus I’m boycotted by the Communists
The tired cars go grumbling by
’Tis but a modern Roman holiday
’Tis hatred without an’ ’tis hatred within
To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed
Too green the springing April grass
’Top one minute, Cous’ Jarge, an’ sit do’n ’pon de grass
Tramp, tramp, tramp, we go a-trampin’
Transformed by colored lights a basement den
Tuskegee is disliked by Negro snobs
Two little pickny is watchin’
An ugly figure, heavy, overfed
Upon this bridgehead of the broken span
Upon thy purple mat thy body bare
The vivid grass with visible delight
Watch how dem touris’ like fe look
We are out in the field, the vast wide-open field
We are tired, tired, tired—we are work-weary and war-weary
Well, boys, I’m not a gwin’ to preach
Were I a poor white I would surely throw
We sheltered from de rain, one night
We sit beneat’ de yampy shade
We welcome you, dear Sir, again
We who revolt against life’s iron bars
What a happy band are we
When first your glory shone upon my face
When I go out from here, the doctors say
When I go out into the crowded street
When I have passed away and am forgotten
When June comes dancing o’er the death of May
When the day is at its dimmest
When the dictators set them up as Gods
When you want a bellyful
When you want to meet a frien’
Where once you worked and dwelt
Where’s you’ tender han’, mumma
Where the Bostonian lives, I’m not aware
Whichever way the whites may writhe and squirm
While me deh walk ’long in de street
The white man is a tiger at my throat
The whites admit the Negroes have religion
The Word was God and God He was the Word
The world has built a Paris to its image
The world in silence nods, but my heart weeps
The world was called forth by the word of God
Year o’ eighteen thirty-four
You are a torchlight of humanity
You axe me as de bell begin fe ’trike
You may sneer at us, madam
Your body was a sacred cell always
Your door is shut against my tightened face
Your lips are like a southern lily red
Your power is legion, but it cannot crush
Your scent is in the room
Your voice is the color of a robin’s breast
Your words dropped into my heart like pebbles into a pool
You say, dearest comrade, my love has grown cold
You see me smile: but what is it
You tas’e petater an’ you say it sweet