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 | The book of American negro poetry, |  |
V. V
Onus Probandi
No more from out the sunset,
No more across the foam,
No more across the windy hills
Will Sandy Star come home.
No more across the foam,
No more across the windy hills
Will Sandy Star come home.
He went away to search it
With a curse upon his tongue:
And in his hand the staff of life,
Made music as it swung.
With a curse upon his tongue:
And in his hand the staff of life,
Made music as it swung.
I wonder if he found it,
And knows the mystery now—
Our Sandy Star who went away,
With the secret on his brow.
And knows the mystery now—
Our Sandy Star who went away,
With the secret on his brow.
| The book of American negro poetry, | |