Jean Toomer

There is no transcience of twilight in

No flicker of a slender flame in space,In crucibles, fragility crystalline.There is no fragrance of the jessamineAbout you, no pathos of some old placeAt dusk, that crumbles like moth-eater laceBeneath the touch. Nor has there ever been.Your love is like the folk-song’s flaming riseIn cane-lipped southern people, like their soulWhich burst its bondage in a…

To those fixed on white,

To those fixed on black,It is the same,And red is red,Yellow, yellow-Surely there are such sightsIn the many colored world,Or in the mind.The strange thing is thatThese people never see themselvesOr you, or me.Are they not in their minds?Are we not in the world?This is a curious blindnessFor those that are color blind.What queer beliefsThat…