But I can wait the seven of moons,Or years I spare,Hoarding the heart's plenty, nor spendA drop, nor share—So long but outlives a smile andA silken gown;Then gaily I reach up from my shroud,And you, glory-clad, reach down.
We trekked into a far country,My friend and I.Our deeper content was never spoken,But each knew all the other said.He told me how calm his soul was laidBy the lack of anvil and strife."The wooing kestrel," I said, "mutes his mating-noteTo please the harmony of this sweet silence."And when at the day's endWe laid tired bodies 'gainstThe loose warm sands,And the air fleeced its particles for a coverlet;When star after star came outTo guard their lovers in oblivion—My soul so leapt that my evening prayerStole my morning song!
Ah, how poets sing and die!Make one song and Heaven takes it;Have one heart and Beauty breaks it;Chatterton, Shelley, Keats and I—Ah, how poets sing and die!
Alex Rogers
"I heeard da ole folks talkin' in our house da other night'Bout Adam in da scripchuh long ago.Da lady folks all 'bused him, sed, he knowed it wus'n rightAn' 'cose da men folks dey all sed, "Dat's so."I felt sorry fuh Mistuh Adam, an' I felt like puttin' in,'Cause I knows mo' dan dey do, all 'bout whut made Adam sin:
Adam nevuh had no Mammy, fuh to take him on her kneeAn' teach him right fum wrong an' show himThings he ought to see.I knows down in my heart—he'd-a let dat apple beBut Adam nevuh had no dear old Ma-am-my.
He nevuh knowed no chilehood roun' da ole log cabin do',He nevuh knowed no pickaninny life.He started in a great big grown up man, an' whut is mo',He nevuh had da right kind uf a wife.Jes s'pose he'd had a Mammy when dat temptin' did beginAn' she'd a come an' tole him"Son, don' eat dat—dat's a sin."
But, Adam nevuh had no Mammy fuh to take him on her kneeAn' teach him right fum wrong an' show himThings he ought to see.I knows down in my heart he'd a let dat apple be,But Adam nevuh had no dear old Ma-am-my.
Bro. Simmons
"Walk right in Brother Wilson—how you feelin' today?"
Bro. Wilson
"Jes Mod'rate, Brother Simmons, but den I ginnerly feels dat way."
Bro. Simmons
"Here's White an' Black an' Brown an' Green; how's all you gent'men's been?",
Bro. White
"My health is good but my bus'ness slack."
Bro. Black
"I'se been suff'rin' lots wid pains in my back."
Bro. Brown
"My ole 'ooman's sick, but I'se alright—"
Bro. Green
"Yes, I went aftuh Doctuh fuh her 'tuther night—"
Bro. Simmons
"Here's Sandy Turner, as I live!"
Bro. Turner
"Yes, I didn' 'spect to git here—but here I is!"
Bro. Simmons
"Now, gent'mens, make yo'selves to home,Dare's nothin' to fear—my ole 'ooman's gone—My stars; da weather's pow'ful warm—I wouldn' be s'prised ef we had a storm."
Bro. Brown
"No, Brother Simmons, we kin safely say—'Tain't gwine to be no storm to-dayKase here am facts dat's mighty plainAn' any time you sees 'em you kin look fuh rain:Any time you hears da cheers an' tables crackAn' da folks wid rheumatics—dare jints is on da rack—"
All
"Lookout fuh rain, rain, rain.
"When da ducks quack loud an' da peacocks cry,An' da far off hills seems to be right nigh,Prepare fuh rain, rain, rain!
"When da ole cat on da hearth wid her velvet paws'Gins to wipin' over her whiskered jaws,Sho' sign o' rain, rain, rain!
"When da frog's done changed his yaller vest,An' in his brown suit he is dressed,Mo' rain, an' still mo' rain!
"When you notice da air it Stan's stock still,An' da blackbird's voice it gits so awful shrill,Dat am da time fuh rain.
"When yo' dog quits bones an' begins to fas',An' when you see him eatin'; he's eatin' grass:Shoes', trues', cert'nes sign ob rain!"
Refrain
"No, Brother Simmons, we kin safely say,'Tain't gwine tuh be no rain to-day,Kase da sut ain't fallin' an' da dogs ain't sleep,An' you ain't seen no spiders fum dare cobwebs creep;Las' night da sun went bright to bed,An' da moon ain't nevah once been seen to hang her head;If you'se watched all dis, den you kin safely say,Dat dare ain't a-gwine to be no rain to-day."
Waverley Turner Carmichael
Keep me 'neath Thy mighty wing,Keep me, Jesus, keep me;Help me praise Thy Holy name,Keep me, Jesus, keep me.O my Lamb, come, my Lamb,O my good Lamb,Save me, Jesus, save me.
Hear me as I cry to Thee;Keep me, Jesus, keep me;May I that bright glory see;Keep me, Jesus, keep me.O my Lamb, my good Lamb,O my good Lamb,Keep me, Jesus, keep me.
De winter days are drawin' nighAn' by the fire I sets an' sigh;De nothe'n win' is blowin' cold,Like it done in days of old.
De yaller leafs are fallin' fas',Fur summer days is been an' pas';The air is blowin' mighty cold,Like it done in days of old.
De frost is fallin' on de gras'An' seem to say "Dis is yo' las'"—De air is blowin' mighty coldLike it done in days of old.
Alice Dunbar-Nelson
I had no thought of violets of late,The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feetIn wistful April days, when lovers mateAnd wander through the fields in raptures sweet.The thought of violets meant florists' shops,And bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine;And garish lights, and mincing little fopsAnd cabarets and songs, and deadening wine.So far from sweet real things my thoughts had strayed,I had forgot wide fields, and clear brown streams;The perfect loveliness that God has made,—Wild violets shy and Heaven-mounting dreams.And now—unwittingly, you've made me dreamOf violets, and my soul's forgotten gleam.
Charles Bertram Johnson
Des a little cabinBig ernuff fur two.Des awaitin', honey,Cozy fixt fur you;Down dah by de road,Not ve'y far from town,Waitin' fur de missis,When she's ready to come down.
Des a little cabin,An' er acre o' groun',Vines agrowin' on it,Fruit trees all aroun',Hollyhawks a-bloomin'In de gyahden plot—Honey, would you like toOwn dat little spot?
Make dat little cabinCheery, clean an' bright,With an' angel in itLike a ray of light?Make dat little palaceSomethin' fine an' gran',Make it like an Eden,Fur a lonely man?
Des you listen, Honey,While I 'splain it all,How some lady's go'nterBoss dat little hall;Des you take my ban'Dat's de way it's writ,Des you take my heart,Dat's de deed to it.
Full many lift and singTheir sweet imagining;Not yet the Lyric Seer,The one bard of the throng,With highest gift of song,Breaks on our sentient ear.
Not yet the gifted child,With notes enraptured, wild,That storm and throng the heart,To make his rage our own,Our hearts his lyric throne;Hard won by cosmic art.
I hear the sad refrain,Of slavery's sorrow-strain;The broken half-lispt speechOf freedom's twilit hour;The greater growing reachOf larger latent power.
Here and there a growing noteSwells from a conscious throat;Thrilled with a message fraughtThe pregnant hour is near;We wait our Lyric Seer,By whom our wills are caught.
Who makes our cause and wrongThe motif of his song;Who sings our racial good,Bestows us honor's place,The cosmic brotherhoodOf genius—not of race.
Blind Homer, Greek or Jew,Of fame's immortal fewWould still be deathless born;Frail Dunbar, black or white,In Fame's eternal light,Would shine a Star of Morn.
An unhorizoned range,Our hour of doubt and change,Gives song a nightless day,Whose pen with pregnant mirthWill give our longings birth,And point our souls the way?
Otto Leland Bohanan
The Dawn's awake!A flash of smoldering flame and fireIgnites 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 hillsA paean of eternal springVoices 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!
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 scrubWith only a breath betwixt tub and tub.Fool! Thou hast toiled for fifty yearsAnd 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.
Theodore Henry Shackelford
Come, children, hear the joyful sound,Ding, Dong, Ding.Go spread the glad news all around,Ding, Dong, Ding.
ChorusOh, the big bell's tollin' up in Zion,The big bell's tollin' up in Zion,The big bell's tollin' up in Zion,Ding, Dong, Ding.
I've been abused and tossed about,Ding, Dong, Ding.But glory to the Lamb, I shout!Ding, Dong, Ding.
My bruthah jus' sent word to me,Ding, Dong, Ding.That he'd done set his own self free.Ding, Dong, Ding.
Ole massa said he could not go,Ding, Dong, Ding.But he's done reached Ohio sho'.Ding, Dong, Ding.
Ise gwine to be real nice an' meek,Ding, Dong, Ding.Den I'll run away myself nex' week.Ding, Dong, Ding.
Chorus
Oh, the big bell's tollin' up in Zion,The big bell's tollin' up in Zion,The big bell's tollin' up in Zion,Ding, Dong Ding.
Lucian B. Watkins
Out in the Night thou art the sunToward which thy soul-charmed children run,The faith-high height whereon they seeThe glory of their Day To Be—The peace at last when all is done.
The night is dark but, one by one,Thy signals, ever and anon,Smile beacon answers to their plea,Out in the Night.
Ah, Life! thy storms these cannot shun;Give them a hope to rest upon,A dream to dream eternally,The strength of men who would be freeAnd win the battle race begun,Out in the Night!
From this low-lying valley; Oh, how sweetAnd cool and calm and great is life, I ween,There on yon mountain-throne—that sun-gold crest!
From this uplifted, mighty mountain-seat:How bright and still and warm and soft and greenSeems yon low lily-vale of peace and rest!
We've kept the faith. Our souls' high dreamsUntouched by bondage and its rod,Burn on! and on! and on! It seemsWe shall have FRIENDS—while God is God!
Benjamin Brawley
(To Robert Gould Shaw)
Flushed with the hope of high desire,He buckled on his sword,To dare the rampart ranged with fire,Or where the thunder roared;Into the smoke and flame he went,For God's great cause to die—A youth of heaven's element,The flower of chivalry.
This was the gallant faith, I trow,Of which the sages tell;On such devotion long agoThe benediction fell;And never nobler martyr burned,Or braver hero died,Than he who worldly honor spurnedTo serve the Crucified.
And Lancelot and Sir BedivereMay pass beyond the pale,And wander over moor and mereTo find the Holy Grail;
But ever yet the prize forsoothMy hero holds in fee;And he is Blameless Knight in truth,And Galahad to me.
Gone are the sensuous stars, and manifold,Clear sunbeams burst upon the front of night;Ten thousand swords of azure and of goldGive darkness to the dark and welcome light;Across the night of ages strike the gleams,And leading on the gilded host appearsAn old man writing in a book of dreams,And telling tales of lovers for the years;Still Troilus hears a voice that whispers, Stay;In Nature's garden what a mad rout sings!Let's hear these motley pilgrims wile awayThe tedious hours with stories of old things;Or might some shining eagle claimThese lowly numbers for the House of Fame!
Joshua Henry Jones, Jr.
Ghastly, ghoulish, grinning skull,Toothless, eyeless, hollow, dull,Why your smirk and empty smileAs the hours away you wile?Has the earth become such boreThat it pleases nevermore?Whence your joy through sun and rain?Is 't because of loss of pain?Have you learned what men learn notThat earth's substance turns to rot?After learning now you scanVain endeavors man by man?Do you mind that you as theyOnce was held by mystic sway;Dreamed and struggled, hoped and prayed,Lolled and with the minutes played?Sighed for honors; battles planned;Sipped of cups that wisdom bannedBut would please the weak frail flesh;Suffered, fell, 'rose, struggled fresh?Now that you are but a skullGlimpse you life as life is, fullOf beauties that we missTill time withers with his kiss?Do you laugh in cynic veinSince you cannot try again?And you know that we, like you,Will too late our failings rue?Tell me, ghoulish, grinning skullWhat deep broodings, o'er you mull?Tell me why you smirk and smileEre I pass life's sunset stile.
(En La Capilla)
Si la suerte fatal que me ha cabido,Y el triste fin de mi sangrienta historia,Al salir de esta vida transitoriaDeja tu corazon de muerte herido;Baste de Ilanto: el ánimo afligidoRecobre su quietud; moro en la gloria,Y mi plácida lira á tu memoriaLanza en la tumba su postrer sonido.
Sonido dulce, melodioso y santo,Glorioso, espiritual, puro y divino,Inocente, espontáneo como el llantoQue vertiera al nacer: ya el cuello inclino!Ya de la religion me cubre el manto!Adios, mi madre! adios—El Peligrino.
(In the Chapel)
The appointed lot has come upon me, mother,The mournful ending of my years of strife,This changing world I leave, and to anotherIn blood and terror goes my spirit's life.But thou, grief-smitten, cease thy mortal weepingAnd let thy soul her wonted peace regain;I fall for right, and thoughts of thee are sweepingAcross my lyre to wake its dying strains.A strain of joy and gladness, free, unfailingAll glorious and holy, pure, divine,And innocent, unconscious as the wailingI uttered on my birth; and I resignEven now, my life, even now descending slowly,Faith's mantle folds me to my slumbers holy.Mother, farewell! God keep thee—and forever!
Translated by William Cullen Bryant.
(Written in the Chapel of the Hospital de Santa Cristina on the Night Before His Execution)
If the unfortunate fate engulfing me,The ending of my history of grief,The closing of my span of years so brief,Mother, should wake a single pang in thee,Weep not. No saddening thought to me devote;I calmly go to a death that is glory-filled,My lyre before it is forever stilledBreathes out to thee its last and dying note.
A note scarce more than a burden-easing sigh,Tender and sacred, innocent, sincere—Spontaneous and instinctive as the cryI gave at birth—And now the hour is here—O God, thy mantle of mercy o'er my sins!Mother, farewell! The pilgrimage begins.
Translated by James Weldon Johnson.
BOHANAN, OTTO LELAND. Born in Washington, D.C. Educated in the public schools in Washington. He is a graduate of Howard University, School of Liberal Arts, Washington, D.C., and did special work in English at the Catholic University in that city. At present he is engaged in the musical profession in New York.
BRAITHWAITE, WILLIAM STANLEY. Born in Boston, 1878. Mainly self-educated.A critic of poetry and the friend of poets. Author ofLyrics-of Life,The House of Falling Leaves, The Poetic Year, The Story of the GreatWar,etc. Editor and compiler ofThe Book of Elizabethan Verse, TheBook of Georgian Verse, The Book of Restoration Verseand a series ofyearly anthologies of magazine verse. One of the literary editors of theBostonTranscript.
BRAWLEY, BENJAMIN. Born at Columbia, S.C., 1882. Educated at the AtlantaBaptist College, the University of Chicago and Harvard University. For twoyears he was professor of English at Howard University, Washington, D.C.Later he became dean of Morehouse College, Atlanta, Ga. Author ofAShort History of the American Negro, The Negro in Literature and Art, AShort History of the English Drama, A Social History of the AmericanNegro, etc. Now living in Boston and engaged in research and writing.
CAMPBELL, JAMES EDWIN. Was born at Pomeroy, Ohio, in the early sixties. His early life was somewhat shrouded in mystery; he never referred to it even to his closest associates. He was educated in the public schools of his native city. Later he spent a while at Miami College. In the late eighties and early nineties he was engaged in newspaper work in Chicago. He wrote regularly on the various dailies of that city. He was also one of a group that issued theFour O'Clock Magazine, a literary publication which flourished for several years. He died, perhaps, twenty years ago. He was the author ofEchoes from The Cabin and Elsewhere, a volume of poems.
CARMICHAEL, WAVERLEY TURNER. A young man who had never been out of his native state of Alabama until several years ago when he entered one of the summer courses at Harvard University. His education to that time had been very limited and he had endured poverty and hard work. His verses came to the attention of one of the Harvard professors. He has since published a volume,From the Heart of a Folk. He served with the 367th Regiment, "The Buffaloes," during the World War and saw active service in France. At present he is employed as a postal clerk in Boston, Mass.
CORROTHERS, JAMES D., 1869-1919. Born in Cass County, Michigan. Student in Northwestern University, minister and poet. Many of his poems appeared inThe Century Magazine.
COTTER, JOSEPH S., JR., 1895-1919. Born at Louisville, Kentucky, in the room in which Paul Laurence Dunbar first read his dialect poems in the South. He was precocious as a child, having read a number of books before he was six years old. All through his boyhood he had the advantage and inspiration of the full library of poetic books belonging to his father, himself a poet of considerable talent. Young Cotter attended Fisk University but left in his second year because he had developed tuberculosis. A volume of verse,The Band of Gideon, and a number of unpublished poems were written during the six years in which he was an invalid.
DANDRIDGE, RAY G. Born at Cincinnati, Ohio, 1882. Educated in the grammar and high school of his native city. In 1912, as the result of illness, he lost the use of both legs and his right arm. He does most of his writing lying flat in bed and using his left hand. He is the author ofThe Poet and Other Poems.
DAVIS, DANIEL WEBSTER. Born in Virginia, near Richmond. For a number of years he was a minister and principal of the largest public school in Richmond. He died in that city some years ago. He was the author of'Weh Down Souf, a volume of verse. He was very popular as an orator and a reader of his own poems.
DETT, R. NATHANIEL. Born at Drummondville, Canada, 1882. Graduate of the Oberlin Conservatory of Music. He is a composer, most of his compositions being based on themes from the old "slave songs." His "Listen to de Lambs" is widely used by choral societies. He is director of music at Hampton Institute. He is also the author ofThe Album of a Heart, a volume of verse.
DU BOIS, W. E. BURGHARDT. Born at Great Barrington, Mass., 1868. Educated at Fisk University, Harvard University and the University of Berlin. For a number of years professor of economics and history at Atlanta University. Author of theSuppression of the Slave Trade, The Philadelphia Negro, The Souls of Black Folk, John Brown, Darkwater, etc. He is the editor ofThe Crisis.
DUNBAR, PAUL LAURENCE. Born at Dayton, Ohio, 1872; died 1906. Dunbar was educated in the public schools. He wrote his early poems while working as an elevator boy. His first volume of poems,Oak and Ivy, was published in 1893 and sold largely through his own efforts. This was followed byMajors and Minors, Lyrics of Lowly Life, Lyrics of the Hearthside, Lyrics of Love and Laughter, Lyrics of Sunshine and ShadowandHowdy, Honey, Howdy.Lyrics of Lowly Life, published in New York in 1896 with an introduction written by William Dean Howells, gained national recognition for Dunbar. In addition to poetical works, Dunbar was the author of four novels,The Uncalled, The Love of Landry, The Sport of the Gods, andThe Fanatics. He also published several volumes of short stories. Partly because of his magnificent voice and refined manners, he was a very successful reader of his own poems and was able to add greatly to their popularity.
FAUSET, JESSIE REDMON. Born at Snow Hill, New Jersey. She was educated in the public schools of Philadelphia, at Cornell University and the University of Pennsylvania. For a while she was teacher of French in the Dunbar High School, Washington, D.C. Author of a number of uncollected poems and several short stories. She is literary editor ofThe Crisis.
HILL, LESLIE PINCKNEY. Born at Lynchburg, Va., 1880. He was educated in the public schools at Lynchburg and at Harvard University. On graduation he became a teacher of English and methods at Tuskegee. Author of theWings of Oppression, a volume of verse. He is principal of the Cheyney Training School for Teachers at Cheyney, Pa.
HOLLOWAY, JOHN WESLEY. Born in Merriweather County, Ga, 1865. His father, who learned to read and write in slavery, became one of the first colored teachers in Georgia after the Civil War. Mr. Holloway was educated at Clark University, Atlanta, Ga., and at Fisk University, Nashville, Tenn. He was for a while a member of the Fisk Jubilee Singers. Has been a teacher and is now a preacher. He is the author ofFrom the Desert, a volume of verse.
JAMISON, ROSCOE C. Born at Winchester, Tenn., 1888; died 1918. He was a graduate of Fisk University.
JOHNSON, CHARLES BERTRAM. Born at Callao, Mo., 1880. He was educated in the public schools of his home town and at Western College, Lincoln Institute and at Chicago University. He was a teacher for a number of years and is now a pastor of a church at Moberly, Mo. He is the author ofSongs of My People.
JOHNSON, FENTON. Born at Chicago, 1888. He was educated in the public schools and at the University of Chicago and Northwestern University. The author ofA Little Dreaming, Songs of the SoilandVisions of the Dusk. He has devoted much time to journalism and the editing of a magazine.
JOHNSON, GEORGIA DOUGLAS. Born in Atlanta, Ga., 1886. She was educated in the public schools of that city and at Atlanta University. She is the author of a volume of verse,The Heart of a Womanand other poems.
JOHNSON, JAMES WELDON. Born at Jacksonville, Fla., 1871. He was educated in the public schools of Jacksonville, at Atlanta University and at Columbia University. He taught school in his native town for several years. Later he came to New York with his brother, J. Rosamond Johnson, and began writing for the musical comedy stage. He served seven years as U. S. Consul in Venezuela and Nicaragua. Author ofThe Autobiography of an Ex-colored Man, Fifty Years and Other Poems, and the English libretto toGoyescas, the Spanish grand opera, produced at the Metropolitan Opera House in 1915.
JONES, EDWARD SMYTH. Attracted national attention about ten years ago by walking some hunderds of miles from his home in the South to Harvard University. Arriving there, he was arrested on a charge of vagrancy. While in jail, he wrote a poem, "Harvard Square." The poem created a sentiment that led to his quick release. He is the author ofThe Sylvan Cabin.
JONES, JOSHUA HENRY, JR. He is engaged in newspaper work in Boston and is the author of a volume of poems,The Heart of the World.
MARGETSON, GEORGE REGINALD. Was born at St. Kitts, British West Indies, in 1877. He was educated at the Moravian school in his district. He came to the United States in 1897. Mr. Margetson has found it necessary to work hard to support a large family and his poems have been written in his spare moments. He is the author of two volumes of verses,Songs of LifeandThe Fledgling Bard and the Poetry Societyand, in addition, a large number of uncollected poems. Mr. Margetson lives in Boston.
McCLELLAN, GEORGE MARION. Born at Belfast, Tenn., 1860. Graduate of Fisk University and Hartford Theological Seminary, teacher, principal and author. He is the author ofThe Path of Dreams.
McKAY, CLAUDE. Born in Jamaica, West Indies, 1889. Such education as he gained in boyhood he received from his brother. He served for a while as a member of the Kingston Constabulary. In 1912 he came to the United States. For two years he was a student of agriculture at the Kansas State College. Since leaving school Mr. McKay has turned his hand to any kind of work to earn a living. He has worked in hotels and on the Pullman cars. He is to-day associate editor ofThe Liberator. He is the author of two volumes of poems,Songs of JamaicaandSpring in New Hampshire, the former published in Jamaica and the latter in London.
MOORE; WILLIAM H. A. Was born in New York City and received his education in the public schools and at the City College. He also did some special work at Columbia University. He has had a long career as a newspaper man, working on both white and colored publications. He now lives in Chicago. He is the author ofDusk Songs, a volume of poems.
NELSON, ALICE MOORE (DUNBAR). Born at New Orleans, La., 1875. She was educated in the schools of New Orleans and has taken special courses at Cornell University, Columbia University, and the University of Pennsylvania. Author ofViolets and Other Tales, The Goodness of St. Rocque, Masterpieces of Negro Eloquence, andThe Dunbar Speaker. She was married to Paul Laurence Dunbar in 1898. She has been a teacher and is well known on the lecture platform and as an editor.
ROGERS, ALEX. Born at Nashville, Tenn., 1876. Educated in the public schools of that city. For many years a writer of words for popular songs. He wrote many of the songs for the musical comedies in which Williams and Walker appeared. He is the author ofThe Jonah Man, Nobodyand other songs made popular by Mr. Bert Williams.
SHACKELFORD, THEODORE HENRY. Author ofMammy's Cracklin' Bread andOther Poems, andMy Country and Other Poems.
SPENCER, ANNE. Born in Bramwell, W. Va., 1882. Educated at the Virginia Seminary, Lynchburg, Va. She lives at Lynchburg and takes great pride and pleasure in her garden.
WATKINS, LUCIAN B., was born in Virginia. He served overseas in the great war and lost his health. He died in 1921. He was the author of a large number of uncollected poems.
After the WinterAnd What Shall You Say?At the CarnivalAt the Closed Gate of Justice
Band of Gideon, TheBanjo Player, TheBarrier, TheBefore the Feast of ShushanBig Bell in Zion, TheBlack MammiesBrothersButterfly in Church, A
Calling the DoctorChaucerChildren of the SunChristmas at MelroseChristmas Eve in FranceCompensationCorn Song, TheCreation, TheCunjah Man, De
Dawn's Awake! TheDead FiresDeath Song, ADebt, TheDel CascarDogwood BlossomsDream and the SongDrum Majah, DeDunbarDusk Song
Feet of Judas, TheFifty YearsFlame-Heart
Harlem Dancer, TheHarlem ShadowsHaunted Oak, TheHeart of a Woman, TheHills of Sewanee, TheHog Meat
If We Must DieIndignation Dinner, AnIn the Matter of Two MenIronic: LL.D.Is It Because I Am Black?'Ittle Touzle HeadIt Was Not FateI Want to Die While You Love Me
Keep Me, Jesus, Keep Me
La Vie C'est la VieLitany of Atlanta, ALittle Brown BabyLittle Cabin, ALost IllusionsLover's LaneLynching, The
Miss MelerleeMother NightMy HeroMy Little Dreams
Negro Love Song, ANegro PoetsNegro SerenadeNegro Singer, TheNegro Soldiers, TheNew Day, The
O Black and Unknown BardsOblivionOl' Doc' HyarOriflammeO Southland
Paul Laurence DunbarPrayer, A
Rain MusicRain Song, TheRhapsodyRoad to the Bow, TheRubinstein Staccato Etude, The
Sandy Star and Willie GeeScarlet Woman, TheScintillaSence You Went AwayShips That Pass in the NightSic VitaSong of Thanks, ASonnetSprin' FevahSpring in New HampshireStanzas from The Fledgling Bard and the Poetry SocietyStar of EthiopiaSummer MagicSupplication
Teacher, TheTime to DieTiredTired Worker, TheTo a SkullTo O. E. ATo Our FriendsTo the White FiendsTranslationTurn Me to My Yellow LeavesTuskegeeTwo-an'-SixTwo Points of View
Uncle Eph's Banjo Song
Washer-Woman, The'Weh Down SoufWeltWhen de Co'n Pone's HotWhen Ol' Sis Judy PrayWhite Witch, TheWhy Adam SinnedWife-Woman, TheWinter Is Coming
Youth
Zalka Peetruza