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The earth is a father
Devouring his children.
The earth is a ghoul
Battening on corpses.

The earth is a garden
Of green trees.
The earth is a pillow
For the head.

PAUSE

If it were to become
Complete;

If
All of a sudden
Everything were to hold its breath:

Surely

The walls of the city

Would be cast down

With a terrible noise.

- Louis Gilmore

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And you, my little friend of the gay dress!
In a swift moment of encountered eyes
I have touched your hand and kissed your wistfulness
And looked with you upon eternities;
And I know that neither the powder on your nose,
Nor the amazing things you wear upon your feet,
Can alter the gentleness my spirit owes
To vision of you, hurrying down the street.

III

I know you. You are one of those who fear
The certain end of their uncertainties;
Who, never having had possession here,
Still seek it in such transient things as these
Bright windows looking into gaudy places
Where there are wine-lists and long bills of fare,

And leaning girls with splendid shoulders bare,
And intimate eyes, playing with passionate faces.

IV In the concert hall

You are the musician
I the listener.
Here your fingers touch no bow,
Make no music for me.
We pass one another

Silently.

V

I do not marvel so that you can wear
A flower in your tailored button-hole,
As that the flower does not perish there
In the Winter of your soul.

VI

When you have passed and other eyes
Have found me with a new surprise,
I know I shall not call to mind
The colored hat you wore, the kind
Of dress nor anything so sure.
Only your laughter will endure
And come to me on other trips
Down other streets, from other lips.

Raymond Peckham Holden 'THREE NEGRO SPIRITUALS

THE LOST LovE

Oh, where has my honey gone?
Fly away, my Jubal, fly away!
Oh where have they laid her bones?
Fly away, my Jubal, fly away!
Conjure woman shake her head,
Preacher dumb and master sad.
Nobody knows!
Nobody knows!

Why the tears that drop all night?
Fly away, my Jubal, fly away!
Why the heart that burns like fire?
Fly away, my Jubal, fly away!
Angel close the Book of Life,
Moon goes down and stars grow cold.
Nobody knows!
Nobody knows!

How LoNG, O LORD !

How long, O Lord, nobody knows!
My honey's resting near the brook.
How long, O Lord, nobody knows!

How long, O Lord, nobody knows! .
I pray she'll rise on Judgment Day.
How long, O Lord, nobody knows!

WHO IS THAT A-WALKING IN
THE CORN ?

Who is that a-walking in the corn?

I have looked to East and looked to West

But nowhere could I find Him who walks
Master's cornfield in the morning.

Who is that a-walking in the corn?

Is it Joshua, the son of Nun?—

Or King David come to fight the giant
Near the cornfield in the morning?

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Who is that a-walking in the corn?

Is it Peter jangling Heaven's keys?—

Or old Gabriel come to blow his horn
Near the cornfield in the morning?

Who is that a-walking in the corn?
I have looked to East and looked to West
But nowhere could I find Him who walks
Master's cornfield in the morning.
Fenton Johnson)

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