To OEA
Your voice is the color of a robin's breast,
And there's a sweet sob in it like rain—still rain in the night.
Among the leaves of the trumpet-tree, close to his nest,
The pea-dove sings, and each note thrills me with strange
Like the words, wet with music, that well from your trembling throat.
I'm afraid of your eyes, they're so bold,
Searching me through, reading my thoughts, shining like gold.
But sometimes they are gentle and soft like the dew on the lips of the
Before the sun comes warm with his lover's kiss.
You are sea-foam, pure with the star's loveliness,
Not mortal, a flower, a fairy, too fair for the beauty-shorn earth.
All wonderful things, all beautiful things, gave of their wealth to your birth.
Oh I love you so much, not recking of passion, that I feel it is wrong!
But men will love you, flower, fairy, non-mortal spirit burdened with flesh,
Forever, life-long.
Claude McKay
Other author posts
Russian Cathedral
Bow down my soul in worship very And in the holy silences be lost Bow down before the marble man of woe, Bow down before the singing angel host
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
White Houses
Your door is shut against my tightened face, And I am sharp as steel with discontent; But I possess the courage and the To bear my anger proudly and unbent
The Tired Worker
O whisper, O my soul The afternoon Is waning into evening, whisper soft Peace,