So, in his still sometimes clumsy stride (for Toomer is finally a poet in prose) the author gives you an inkling of his revelation. An individual force, wise enough to drink humbly at this great spring of his land ... such is the first impression of Jean Toomer. But beyond this wisdom and this power (which shows itself perhaps most splendidly in his complete freedom from the sense of persecution), there rises a figure more significant: the artist, hard, self-immolating, the artist who is not interested in races, whose domain is Life. The book’s final Part is no longer “promise”; it is achievement. It is no mere dawn: it is a bit of the full morning. These materials ... the ancient black man, mute, inaccessible, and yet so mystically close to the new tumultuous members of his race, the simple slave Past, the shredding Negro Present, the iridescent passionate dream of the To-morrow ... are made and measured by a craftsman into an unforgettable music. The notes of his counterpoint are particular, the themes are of intimate connection with us Americans. But the result is that abstract and absolute thing called Art. WALDO FRANK. Certain of these pieces have appeared in _Broom_, _Crisis_, _Double Dealer_, _Liberator_, _Little Review_, _Modern Review_, _Nomad_, _Prairie_, and _S 4 N_. To these magazines: thanks. CONTENTS PAGE FOREWORD, by _Waldo Frank_ vii KARINTHA 1 REAPERS 6 NOVEMBER COTTON FLOWER 7 BECKY 8 FACE 14 COTTON SONG 15 CARMA 16 SONG OF THE SON 21 GEORGIA DUSK 22 FERN 24 NULLO 34 EVENING SONG 35 ESTHER 36 CONVERSION 49 PORTRAIT IN GEORGIA 50 BLOOD-BURNING MOON 51 SEVENTH STREET 71 RHOBERT 73 AVEY 76