To John Keats, Poet, At Spring Time (Countee Cullen Poems)
I cannot hold my peace, John Keats; There never was a spring like this; It is an echo, that repeats ...
I cannot hold my peace, John Keats; There never was a spring like this; It is an echo, that repeats ...
The many sow, but only the chosen reap; Happy the wretched host if Day be brief, That with the cool ...
Along the shore the tall thin grass,That fringes that dark river,While sinuously soft feet passBeings to bleed and quiver.The great ...
Locked arm in arm they cross the wayThe black boy and the white,The golden splendor of the dayThe sable pride ...
"Lord, being dark," I said, "I cannot bear The further touch of earth, the scented air; Lord, being dark, forewilled ...
We shall not always plant while others reap The golden increment of bursting fruit, Not always countenance, abject and mute, ...
My father is a quiet man With sober, steady ways; For simile, a folded fan; His nights are like his ...
What is Africa to me: Copper sun or scarlet sea, Jungle star or jungle track, Strong bronzed men, or regal ...
Some are teethed on a silver spoon, With the stars strung for a rattle; I cut my teeth as the ...
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