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Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes

To Certain

You sicken me with lies,
With truthful lies.
And with your pious faces.
And your wide, out—stretched,
mock—welcome, Christian hands.
While underneath
Is dirt and ugliness,
And rotting hearts,
And wild hyenas howling
In you soul’s wasteland.

#Americans #Blacks

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Daybreak in Alabama

When I get to be a composer I’m gonna write me some music abou… Daybreak in Alabama And I’m gonna put the purtiest so… Rising out of the ground like a sw…
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Peace

We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
I Continue to Dream

I take my dreams and make of them… and a round fountain with a beauti… And a song with a broken heart and… Do you understand my dreams? Sometimes you say you do,
The Weary Blues

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…
Acceptance

God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
Justice

That Justice is a blind goddess Is a thing to which we black are w… Her bandage hides two festering so… That once perhaps were eyes.
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Theme for English B

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?
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Fire-Caught

The gold moth did not love him So, gorgeous, she flew away. But the gray moth circled the flam… Until the break of day. And then, with wings like a dead d…
As I Grew Older

It was a long time ago. I have almost forgotten my dream. But it was there then, In front of me, Bright like a sun—
Wake

Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
Personal

In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
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Cultural Exchange

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
Freedom's Plow

When a man starts out with nothing… When a man starts out with his han… Empty, but clean, When a man starts to build a world… He starts first with himself
To Artina

I will take you heart. I will take your soul out of your… As though I were God. I will not be satisfied With the touch of your hand
Merry-Go-Round

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



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