 | The book of American negro poetry, |  |
189
Otto Leland Bohanan
THE DAWN'S AWAKE!
The Dawn's awake!
A flash of smoldering flame and fire
Ignites the East. Then, higher, higher,
O'er all the sky so gray, forlorn,
The torch of gold is borne.
A flash of smoldering flame and fire
Ignites the East. Then, higher, higher,
O'er all the sky so gray, forlorn,
The torch of gold is borne.
The Dawn's awake!
The dawn of a thousand dreams and thrills.
And music singing in the hills
A pæan of eternal spring
Voices the new awakening.
The dawn of a thousand dreams and thrills.
And music singing in the hills
A pæan of eternal spring
Voices the new awakening.
The Dawn's awake!
Whispers of pent-up harmonies,
With the mingled fragrance of the trees;
Faint snatches of half-forgotten song—
Fathers! torn and numb,—
The boon of light we craved, awaited long,
Has come, has come!
Whispers of pent-up harmonies,
With the mingled fragrance of the trees;
Faint snatches of half-forgotten song—
Fathers! torn and numb,—
The boon of light we craved, awaited long,
Has come, has come!
190
THE WASHER-WOMAN
A great swart cheek and the gleam of tears,
The flutter of hopes and the shadow of fears,
And all day long the rub and scrub
With only a breath betwixt tub and tub.
Fool! Thou hast toiled for fifty years
And what hast thou now but thy dusty tears?
In silence she rubbed . . . But her face I had seen,
Where the light of her soul fell shining and clean.
The flutter of hopes and the shadow of fears,
And all day long the rub and scrub
With only a breath betwixt tub and tub.
Fool! Thou hast toiled for fifty years
And what hast thou now but thy dusty tears?
In silence she rubbed . . . But her face I had seen,
Where the light of her soul fell shining and clean.
| The book of American negro poetry, | |