Democracy will not come
Today, this year
Nor ever
Through compromise and fear.
I have as much right

I know I am
The Negro Problem
Being wined and dined,
Answering the usual questions
That come to white mind

Have you dug the spill
Of Sugar Hill?
Cast your gims
On this sepia thrill:
Brown sugar lassie,

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other ni
By the pale dull pallor of an old

'Me an’ ma baby’s
Got two mo’ ways,
Two mo’ ways to do de Charleston!
Da, da,
Da, da, da!

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?

I catch the pattern
Of your silence
Before you speak
I do not need
To hear a word.

Love
Is a ripe plum
Growing on a purple tree.
Taste it once
And the spell of its enchantment

When the shoe strings break
On both your shoes
And you’re in a hurry—
That’s the blues.
When you go to buy a candy bar

The census man,
The day he came round,
Wanted my name
To put it down.
I said, Johnson,