Ah, we should have a land of joy, Of love and joy and wine and song, And not this land where joy is wrong. Oh, sweet, away! Ah, my beloved one, away! LAMENT FOR DARK PEOPLES I was a red man one time, But the white men came. I was a black man, too, But the white men came. They drove me out of the forest. They took me away from the jungles. I lost my trees. I lost my silver moons. Now they’ve caged me In the circus of civilization. Now I herd with the many— Caged in the circus of civilization. AFRAID We cry among the skyscrapers As our ancestors Cried among the palms in Africa Because we are alone, It is night, And we’re afraid. POEM For the portrait of an African boy after the manner of Gauguin All the tom-toms of the jungles beat in my blood, And all the wild hot moons of the jungles shine in my soul. I am afraid of this civilization— So hard, So strong, So cold. SUMMER NIGHT The sounds Of the Harlem night Drop one by one into stillness. The last player-piano is closed. The last victrola ceases with the “Jazz Boy Blues.” The last crying baby sleeps And the night becomes Still as a whispering heartbeat. I toss Without rest in the darkness, Weary as the tired night, My soul Empty as the silence, Empty with a vague, Aching emptiness, Desiring, Needing someone, Something. I toss without rest In the darkness Until the new dawn, Wan and pale, Descends like a white mist Into the court-yard. DISILLUSION I would be simple again, Simple and clean Like the earth, Like the rain, Nor ever know, Dark Harlem, The wild laughter Of your mirth Nor the salt tears Of your pain. Be kind to me, Oh, great dark city. Let me forget. I will not come To you again. DANSE AFRICAINE The low beating of the tom-toms, The slow beating of the tom-toms. Low ... slow Slow ... low— Stirs your blood. Dance! A night-veiled girl Whirls softly into a Circle of light. Whirls softly ... slowly, Like a wisp of smoke around the fire— And the tom-toms beat, And the tom-toms beat, And the low beating of the tom-toms Stirs your blood. THE WHITE ONES I do not hate you, For your faces are beautiful, too. I do not hate you, Your faces are whirling lights of loveliness and splendor, too. Yet why do you torture me, O, white strong ones, Why do you torture me? MOTHER TO SON