#AmericanWriters
Children, I come back today To tell you a story of the long da… That I had to climb, that I had t… In order that the race might live… Look at my face —dark as the night…
Oh, silver tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul! In a Harlem cabaret Six long—headed jazzers play. A dancing girl whose eyes are bold
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you— Then, it will be true. I wonder if it’s that simple?
Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
I play it cool I dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive. My motto
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
I was so sick last night I Didn’t hardly know my mind. So sick last night I Didn’t know my mind. I drunk some bad licker that
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.
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt