Songs to the Dark Virgin by, Langston Hughes, 1901-1967
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.
Dreams, by Langston Hughes
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
The Heart of a Woman, Georgia Douglas Johnson, 1880-1966
The heart of a woman goes forth to the dawn
As a lone bird, soft winging, so restlessly on
Afar o’er life’s turrets and vales does it roam
In the wake of those echoes the heart calls home
The heart of a woman falls back with the night
And enters some alien cage in its plight
And tries to forget it has dreamed of the stars
While it breaks, breaks, breaks on the sheltering bars
Sympathy, by Paul Laurence Dunbar, 1872-1906
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,–
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings —
I know why the caged bird sings!