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Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes

Love Song for Lucinda

Love
Is a ripe plum
Growing on a purple tree.
Taste it once
And the spell of its enchantment
Will never let you be.
 
Love
Is a bright star
Glowing in far Southern skies.
Look too hard
And its burning flame
Will always hurt your eyes.
 
Love
Is a high mountain
Stark in a windy sky.
If you
Would never lose your breath
Do not climb too high.

#Americans #Blacks

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Enemy

It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
Park Bench

I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
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Mulatto

I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
Night Funeral in Harlem

Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
Life Is Fine

I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn’t, So I jumped in and sank. I came up once and hollered!
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Dream Variations

To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening
Motto

I play it cool I dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive. My motto
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I look at the world

I look at the world From awakening eyes in a black fac… And this is what I see: This fenced—off narrow space Assigned to me.
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The Fourth Estate, by Giuseppe Pellizza da Volpedo
Oppression

Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
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Let America be America Again

Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is… (America never was America to me.…
The Weary Blues

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow… I heard a Negro play. Down on Lenox Avenue the other ni… By the pale dull pallor of an old…
Wealth

From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
To Artina

I will take you heart. I will take your soul out of your… As though I were God. I will not be satisfied With the touch of your hand
Madam and the Census Man

The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
Wake

Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.



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