 | The book of American negro poetry, |  |
132
MY LITTLE DREAMS
I'm folding up my little dreams
Within my heart to-night,
And praying I may soon forget
The torture of their sight.
Within my heart to-night,
And praying I may soon forget
The torture of their sight.
For Time's deft fingers scroll my brow
With fell relentless art—
I'm folding up my little dreams
To-night, within my heart!
With fell relentless art—
I'm folding up my little dreams
To-night, within my heart!
| The book of American negro poetry, | |