#AmericanWriters
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
In the Quarter of the Negroes Where the doors are doors of paper Dust of dingy atoms Blows a scratchy sound. Amorphous jack—o’—Lanterns caper
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
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?
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da… I built my hut near the Congo and…
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams
Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is… (America never was America to me.…
My old mule, He’s gota grin on his face. He’s been a mule so long He’s forgotten about his race. I’m like that old mule —
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—