What marvel, if each turned to lack?

Do good with bleeding. We who bleed . . .

I am cold, though it happened a month ago.

As in lifting a leaf of the mango-fruit.

And, in my unrest, could not rest:

XXIII.

The seven wounds in Christs body fair;

Theres a little dark bird sits and sings;

Ah!--in their stead, their hunter sons!

My own, own child! I could not bear

And kneel here where I knelt before,

The free sun rideth gloriously;

A dark child in the dark,--ensued

We were black, we were black!

When one is black and one is fair.

I see you come out proud and slow

And God was thanked for liberty.

With a look of scorn,--that the dusky features

XXII.

In the death-dark where we may kiss and agree,

XVI.

Into the grand eternity.

Was far too white . . . too white for me;

I am black, I am black!--

As the humming-bird sucks the soul of the flower.

Through the earliest streaks of the morn.

To conquer the world, we thought!

I covered his face in close and tight:

An amulet that hung too slack,

And from that hour our spirits grew

As white as the ladies who scorned to pray

Look into my eyes and be bold?

From the white mans house, and the black mans hut,

And plucked my fruit to make them wine,

You have killed the black eagle at nest, I think:

XXXll.

And yet He has made dark things

Our countless wounds that pay no debt.

For in this UNION, you have set

The forests arms did round us shut,

To join the souls of both of us.

Though nothing didst Thou say.

Each loathing each: and all forget

I fall, I swoon! I look at the sky:

I might have sung and made him mild--

I saw a look that mread.99csw.comade me mad . . .

And sing the song she liketh best.

VII.

Rose from the grave whereon I sate!

I covered him up with a kerchief there;

Where exile turned to ancestor,

The clouds are breaking on my brain;

Coldly Thou satst behind the sun!

Do wrong to look at one another,

Could the weep-poor-will or the cat of the glen

Through the roar of the hurricanes.

Ropes tied me up here to the flogging-place.

XII.

How wilt Thou speak to-day?--

II.

As free as if unsold, unbought:

In the sunny ground between the canes,

He struck them out, as it was meet,

Of my childs face, . . . I tell you all,

I sang it low, that the slave-girls near

Indeed, we live beneath the sky, . . .

When the shingle-roof rang sharp with the rains,

While HE sees gaping everywhere

Which would be, if, from this low place,

Of libertys exquisite pain--

And the sweetest stars are made to pass

Each, for his own wifes joy and gift,

I am black, I am black;

It was the dead child singing that,

Your fine white angels, who have seen

But the pilgrim-ghosts have slid away

I have run through the night, my skin is as dark,

I am black, you see,--

O pilgrims, I have gasped and run

And the beasts and birds, in wood and fold,

For the white child wanted his liberty--

XXXIII.

We had no claim to love and bliss:

Did point and mock at what was done.

I look at the sky and the sea.

They could see God sit on His throne.

Up to the mountains, lift your hands,

XXVIII.

Oh, strong enough, since we were two

I sate down smiling there and sung

I look on the sky and the sea--

Ah, ah! they are on me--they hunt in a ring--

I felt, beside, a stiffening cold, . . .

I hｔtps://reａｄ.９９cｓw.ｃｏｍdared to lift up just a fold . . .

He must have cast His work away

I throw off your eyes like snakes that sting!

Nearest the secret of Gods power, . . .

One to another, one to another,

All, changed to black earth, . . . nothing white, . . .

A little corpse as safely at rest

Against my heart to break it through.

--The sun may shine out as much as he will:

I see you staring in my face--

We did not mind, we went one way,

But I dared not sing to the white-faced child

XXI.

And the babe who lay on my bosom so,

The white child and black mother, thus:

My very own child!--From these sands

Oer the face of the darkest night.

Here, in your names, to curse this land

By reaching through the prison-bars.

His bloods mark in the dust! . . . not much,

You think I shrieked then? Not a sound!

That never a comfort can they find

Ye are born of the Washington-race:

And fall and crush you and your seed.

Till, after a time, he lay instead

So the white men brought the shame ere long

We are too heavy for our cross,

I pulled the kerchief very close:

But if He did so, smiling back

Could a slave look so at another slave?--

More, then, alive, than now he does

From the land of the spirits pale as dew. . .

I.

XXXIV.

Two kinds of men in adverse rows,

The song I learnt in my maidenhood.

They would not leave me for my dull

And tender and full was the look he gave:

They asked no question as I went,--

And this mark on my wrist . . . (I prove what I say)

XXVII.

Our wounds are different. Your white men

Might be trodden again to clay.

(Man, drop that stone you dared to lift!--)

My little body, kerchiefed fast,

All night long九九藏書 from the whips of one

Do fear and take us for very men!

All opened straight up to His face

Wet eyes!--it was too merciful

For, as I sang it, soft and wild

As if we were not black and lost:

. . . I know where. Close! a child and mother

My various notes; the same, the same!

As he carved me a bowl of the cocoa-nut,

To bless them from the fear and doubt,

O pilgrim-souls, I speak to you!

They dragged him . . . where ? . . . I crawled to touch

They make us hot, they make us cold,

Wrong, followed by a deeper wrong!

And feel your souls around me hum

While others shook, he smiled in the hut

And he moaned and struggled, as well might be,

For hark ! I will tell you low . . . Iow . . .

XXXI.

XIV.

I am floated along, as if I should die

I carried the little body on,

They stood too high for astonishment,--

Of the first white pilgrims bended knee,

And when I felt it was tired at last,

IX.

Ah, God, we have no stars!

And lift my black face, my black hand,

I hung, as a gourd hangs in the sun.

XV.

They freed the white childs spirit so.

X.

I scooped a hole beneath the moon.

Nor able to make Christs again

But, once, I laughed in girlish glee;

I only cursed them all around,

I wore a child upon my breast

Yes, two, O God, who cried to Thee,

In the name of the white child, waiting for me

Too suddenly still and mute.

XXXVI.

They wrung my cold hands out of his,--

With a white sharp finger from every star,

XVIII.

VI.

Though my tears had washed a place for my knee.

But my fruit . . . ha, ha!--there, had been

The poor souls crouch so far behind,

XXIV.

Over and over I sang his nhttps://read.99csw.comame--

Which they dare not meet by day.

From between the roots of the mango . . . where

I sang his name instead of a song;

He moaned and beat with his head and feet,

His little feet that never grew--

I carried the body to and fro;

The same song, more melodious,

To strangle the sob of my agony.

I know you, staring, shrinking back--

Ye blessed in freedoms evermore.

To look in his face, it was so white.

And this land is the free America:

I look on the sky and the sea.

Under the feet of His white creatures,

Who in your names works sin and woe.

I twisted it round in my shawl.

XXVI.

The only song I knew.

XXX.

On all His children fatherly,

And yet God made me, they say.

To let me weep pure tears and die.

And no better a liberty sought.

In undertone to the oceans roar;

And he moaned and trembled from foot to head,

Earth, twixt me and my baby, strewed,

And thus we two were reconciled,

And now I cry who am but one,

Did you never stand still in your triumph, and shrink

To be glad and merry as light.

I stand on the mark beside the shore

And so, to save it from my curse,

And round me and round me ye go!

Ye pilgrim-souls, . . . though plain as this!

I bore it on through the forest . . . on:

Theres a dark stream ripples out of sight;

I am not mad: I am black.

The masters look, that used to fall

Through the forest-tops the angels far,

He said "I love you" as he passed:

And thus I thought that I would come

XXXV.

It was only a name.

That great smooth Hand of God, stretched out

But we who are dark, we are dark!

XI.

(Stand off!) we help not in our loss!

O slaves, and end what I begun!

Ha, ha! he wanted his master 九九藏書right.

Why, in that single glance I had

Are, after all, not gods indeed,

I bend my knee down on this mark . . .

I said not a word, but, day and night,

XIII.

I heard how he vowed it fast:

The drivers drove us day by day;

And still Gods sunshine and His frost,

XIX.

Mere griefs too good for such as I.

As mine in the mangos!--Yes, but she

IV.

Until all ended for the best:

Some comfort, and my heart grew young:

In my broken hearts disdain!

We were two to love, and two to pray,--

Our blackness shuts like prison bars:

For one of my colour stood in the track

XXV.

On my soul like his lash . . . or worse!

Upward and downward I drew it along

May keep live babies on her knee,

XXIX.

Might never guess from aught they could hear,

III.

He shivered from head to foot;

I am black, I am black!--

And silence through the trees did run:

From the stroke of her wounded wing?

I look on the sea and the sky!

He could not see the sun, I swear,

I wish you, who stand there five a-breast,

XVII.

Ha, ha, for the trick of the angels white!

Thus we went moaning, child and mother,

About our souls in care and cark

Yet when it was all done aright, . . .

Keep off! I brave you all at once--

Where the drivers drove, and looked at me--

Beside me at church but yesterday;

Whips, curses; these must answer those!

And the dark frogs chant in the safe morass,

VIII.

V.

And it lay on my heart like a stone . . . as chill.

(I laugh to think ont at this hour! . . .)

And sucked the soul of that child of mine,

XX.

As softly as I might have done

My face is black, but it glares with a scorn

Where the pilgrims ships first anchored lay,

White men, I leave you all curse-free