A Red Flower
Your lips are like a southern lily red, Wet with the soft rain-kisses of the night,
In which the brown bee buries deep its head, When still the dawn's a silver sea of light.
Your lips betray the secret of your soul, The dark delicious essence that is you,
A mystery of life, the flaming goal I seek through mazy pathways strange and new.
Your lips are the red symbol of a dream, What visions of warm lilies they impart,
That line the green bank of a fair blue stream, With butterflies and bees close to each heart!
Brown bees that murmur sounds of music rare, That softly fall upon the langourous breeze,
Wafting them gently on the quiet air Among untended avenues of trees.
O were I hovering, a bee, to probe Deep down within your scented heart, fair flower,
Enfolded by your soft vermilion robe, Amorous of sweets, for but one perfect hour!
Claude McKay
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Rest in Peace
No more for you the city's thorny ways, The ugly corners of the Negro belt; The miseries and pains of these harsh days By you will never, never again be felt No more, if still you wander, will you meet With nights of unabating bitterness...
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To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed, Scented and warm against my beating breast; To whisper soft and quivering your name, And drink the passion burning in your frame; To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek, And tease your m...
I Shall Return
I shall return again; I shall return To laugh and love and watch with wonder-eyes At golden noon the forest fires burn, Wafting their blue-black smoke to sapphire skies I shall return to loiter by the streams That bathe the brown bl...
The Lynching
His Spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven His father, by the cruelest way of pain, Had bidden him to his bosom once again; The awful sin remained still unforgiven
