OUR LAND

We should have a land of sun, Of gorgeous sun, And a land of fragrant water Where the twilight Is a soft bandanna handkerchief Of rose and gold, And not this land where life is cold. We should have a land of trees, Of tall thick trees Bowed down with chattering parrots Brilliant as the day, And not this land where birds are grey. Ah, we should have a land of joy, Of love and joy and wine and song, And not this land where joy is wrong. Oh, sweet, away! Ah, my beloved one, away!

I was a red man one time, But the white men came. I was a black man, too, But the white men came. They drove me out of the forest. They took me away from the jungles. I lost my trees. I lost my silver moons. Now they’ve caged me In the circus of civilization. Now I herd with the many— Caged in the circus of civilization.

We cry among the skyscrapers As our ancestors Cried among the palms in Africa Because we are alone, It is night, And we’re afraid.

All the tom-toms of the jungles beat in my blood, And all the wild hot moons of the jungles shine in my soul. I am afraid of this civilization— So hard, So strong, So cold.

The sounds Of the Harlem night Drop one by one into stillness. The last player-piano is closed. The last victrola ceases with the “Jazz Boy Blues.” The last crying baby sleeps And the night becomes Still as a whispering heartbeat. I toss Without rest in the darkness, Weary as the tired night, My soul Empty as the silence, Empty with a vague, Aching emptiness, Desiring, Needing someone, Something. I toss without rest In the darkness Until the new dawn, Wan and pale, Descends like a white mist Into the court-yard.

I would be simple again, Simple and clean Like the earth, Like the rain, Nor ever know, Dark Harlem, The wild laughter Of your mirth Nor the salt tears Of your pain. Be kind to me, Oh, great dark city. Let me forget. I will not come To you again.

The low beating of the tom-toms, The slow beating of the tom-toms. Low ... slow Slow ... low— Stirs your blood. Dance! A night-veiled girl Whirls softly into a Circle of light. Whirls softly ... slowly, Like a wisp of smoke around the fire— And the tom-toms beat, And the tom-toms beat, And the low beating of the tom-toms Stirs your blood.

I do not hate you, For your faces are beautiful, too. I do not hate you, Your faces are whirling lights of loveliness and splendor, too. Yet why do you torture me, O, white strong ones, Why do you torture me?

Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair. It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up, And places with no carpet on the floor— Bare. But all the time I’se been a-cimbin’ on, And reachin’ landin’s, And turnin’ corners, And sometimes goin’ in the dark Where there ain’t been no light. So boy, don’t you turn back. Don’t you set down on the steps ’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard. Don’t you fall now— For I’se still goin’, honey, I’se still climbin’, And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

We have tomorrow Bright before us Like a flame. Yesterday A night-gone thing, A sun-down name. And dawn-today Broad arch above the road we came.

I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh, And eat well, And grow strong. Tomorrow, I’ll sit at the table When company comes. Nobody’ll dare Say to me, “Eat in the kitchen,” Then. Besides, They’ll see how beautiful I am And be ashamed,— I, too, am America.