From the Dark Tower
We shall not always plant while others reapThe golden increment of bursting fruit,Nor always countenance, abject and mute,That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap;Not everlastingly while others sleepShall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute,Not always bend to some more subtle brute;We were not made eternally to weep.The night whose sable breast relieves the stark,White stars is no less lovely being dark,And there are buds that cannot bloom at allIn light, but crumple, piteous, and fall.So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds,And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.
We shall not always plant while others reapThe golden increment of bursting fruit,Nor always countenance, abject and mute,That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap;Not everlastingly while others sleepShall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute,Not always bend to some more subtle brute;We were not made eternally to weep.The night whose sable breast relieves the stark,White stars is no less lovely being dark,And there are buds that cannot bloom at allIn light, but crumple, piteous, and fall.So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds,And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.
We shall not always plant while others reapThe golden increment of bursting fruit,Nor always countenance, abject and mute,That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap;Not everlastingly while others sleepShall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute,Not always bend to some more subtle brute;We were not made eternally to weep.
We shall not always plant while others reap
The golden increment of bursting fruit,
Nor always countenance, abject and mute,
That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap;
Not everlastingly while others sleep
Shall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute,
Not always bend to some more subtle brute;
We were not made eternally to weep.
The night whose sable breast relieves the stark,White stars is no less lovely being dark,And there are buds that cannot bloom at allIn light, but crumple, piteous, and fall.So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds,And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.
The night whose sable breast relieves the stark,
White stars is no less lovely being dark,
And there are buds that cannot bloom at all
In light, but crumple, piteous, and fall.
So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds,
And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.
Countee Cullen.