Aunt Sue has a head full of stories. Aunt Sue has a whole heart full of stories. Summer nights on the front porch Aunt Sue cuddles a brown-faced child to her bosom And tells him stories. Black slaves Working in the hot sun, And black slaves Walking in the dewy night, And black slaves Singing sorrow songs on the banks of a mighty river Mingle themselves softly In the flow of old Aunt Sue’s voice, Mingle themselves softly In the dark shadows that cross and recross Aunt Sue’s stories. And the dark-faced child, listening, Knows that Aunt Sue’s stories are real stories. He knows that Aunt Sue Never got her stories out of any book at all, But that they came Right out of her own life. And the dark-faced child is quiet Of a summer night Listening to Aunt Sue’s stories. POEM The night is beautiful, So the faces of my people. The stars are beautiful, So the eyes of my people. Beautiful, also, is the sun. Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people. BLACK PIERROT A BLACK PIERROT I am a black Pierrot: She did not love me, So I crept away into the night And the night was black, too. I am a black Pierrot: She did not love me, So I wept until the red dawn Dripped blood over the eastern hills And my heart was bleeding, too. I am a black Pierrot: She did not love me, So with my once gay-colored soul Shrunken like a balloon without air, I went forth in the morning To seek a new brown love. HARLEM NIGHT SONG Come, Let us roam the night together Singing. I love you. Across The Harlem roof-tops Moon is shining. Night sky is blue. Stars are great drops Of golden dew. In the cabaret The jazz-band’s playing. I love you. Come, Let us roam the night together Singing. SONGS TO THE DARK VIRGIN I Would That I were a jewel, A shattered jewel, That all my shining brilliants Might fall at thy feet, Thou dark one. II Would That I were a garment, A shimmering, silken garment, That all my folds Might wrap about thy body, Absorb thy body, Hold and hide thy body, Thou dark one. III Would That I were a flame, But one sharp, leaping flame To annihilate thy body, Thou dark one. ARDELLA I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams Were it not for your songs. POEM To the Black Beloved