Whoever it was who brought the first wood and coal …
Jean Toomer
Within this black hive to-night …
The sky, lazily disdaining to pursue …
I am a reaper whose muscles set at sun-down. All my oats are cradled. …
Boll-weevil’s coming, and the winter’s cold, …
Hair–braided chestnut, …
My body is opaque to the soul. …
Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones …
Money burns the pocket, pocket hurts, …
Pour O pour that parting soul in song, …
Thunder blossoms gorgeously above our heads, …
Tell me, dear beauty of the dusk, …