1 min read
Слушать(AI)Dawn in New York
The Dawn!
The Dawn!
The crimson-tinted, comes Out of the low still skies, over the hills,
Manhattan's roofs and spires and cheerless domes!
The Dawn!
My spirit to its spirit thrills.
Almost the mighty city is asleep,
No pushing crowd, no tramping, tramping feet.
But here and there a few cars groaning creep Along, above, and underneath the street,
Bearing their strangely-ghostly burdens by,
The women and the men of garish nights,
Their eyes wine-weakened and their clothes awry,
Grotesques beneath the strong electric lights.
The shadows wane.
The Dawn comes to New York.
And I go darkly-rebel to my work.
Claude McKay
Festus Claudius "Claude" McKay (September 15, 1889[1] – May 22, 1948) was a Jamaican writer and poet, and was a central figure in the Harlem Ren
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
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
Enslaved
Oh when I think of my long-suffering race, For weary centuries despised, oppressed, Enslaved and lynched, denied a human place In the great life line of the Christian West; And in the Black Land disinherited, Robbed in the ancient country of its b...
The Tropics in New York
Bananas ripe and green, and ginger-root, Cocoa in pods and alligator pears, And tangerines and mangoes and grape fruit, Fit for the highest prize at parish fairs, Set in the window, bringing memories Of fruit-trees laden by low-singing rills, And ...
Heritage
Now the dead past seems vividly alive, And in this shining moment I can trace, Down through the vista of the vanished years, Your faun-like form, your fond elusive face
