Posted by: W. E. Poplaski | November 12, 2008


by Countee Cullen (1903 – 1946).




Locked arm in arm they cross the way

The black boy and the white,

The golden splendor of the day

The sable pride of night.


From lowered blinds the dark folk stare                5

And here the fair folk talk,

Indignant that these two should dare

In unison to walk.


Oblivious to look and word

They pass, and see no wonder                                 10

That lightning brilliant as a sword

Should blaze the path of thunder.



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