#AmericanWriters
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without 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.…
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
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—
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening
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
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
You say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves