And I go darkly-rebel to my work.
And I go darkly-rebel to my work.
I know the dark delight of being strange, The penalty of difference in the crowd, The loneliness of wisdom among fools . . .
If a man is not faithful to his own individuality, he cannot be loyal to anything.
Music that every heart could bless,
And thoughts of life serene, divine,
Beyond my power to express,
Crowd round this lifted heart of mine!
But the rare lonely spirits, even mine,
Who love the immortal music of all days,
Will see the glory of your trailing line,
The bedded beauty of your haunting lays.
But you have torn a nerve out of my frame,
A gut that no physician can replace,
And reft my life of happiness and aim.
Oh what new purpose shall I now embrace?
Oh, with our love the night is warm and deep!
Upon the clothes behind the tenement, That hang like ghosts suspended from the lines, Linking each flat, but to each indifferent, Incongruous and strange the moonlight shines.
Honor and Glory, Arrogance and Fame!
Adventure-seasoned and storm-buffeted,
I shun all signs of anchorage, because
The zest of life exceeds the bound of laws.
But men will love you, flower, fairy, non-mortal spirit burdened with flesh,
Forever, life-long.
O my brothers and my sisters, wake!
How tired unto death, how tired I was!
How shall I with such memories of you
In coarser forms of love fruition find?
Oh I love you so much, not recking of passion, that I feel it is wrong!
Let's both forgive, forget, for both were blind,
And life is of a day, and time is fleet.
Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words,
Melodious like notes of mating birds;
My spirit wails for water, water now!
And where life lay asleep broods darkly death.
Something in me is lost, forever lost,
Some vital thing has gone out of my heart,
And I must walk the way of life a ghost
Among the sons of earth, a thing apart;
For I was born, far from my native clime,
Under the white man's menace, out of time.
For life is greater than the thousand wars
Men wage for it in their insatiate lust,
And will remain like the eternal stars,
When all that shines to-day is drift and dust
But I am bound with you in your mean graves,
O black men, simple slaves of ruthless slaves.
The perfume of your body dulls my sense.
Nations, like plants and human beings, grow. And if the development is thwarted they are dwarfed and overshadowed.
Although she feeds me bread of bitterness, And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth, Stealing my breath of life, I will confess; I love this cultured hell that tests my youth.
Idealism is like a castle in the air if it is not based on a solid foundation of social and political realism.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories