The sky hangs heavy tonight
Like the hair of a Negro woman.
The scars of the moon are curved
Like the wrinkles on the brow of a Negro woman.

The stars twinkle tonight
Like the glaze in a Negro woman’s eyes,
Drinking the tears set flowing by an aging hurt
Gnawing at her heart.

The earth trembles tonight
Like the quiver of a Negro woman’s eye-lids cupping tears.

“Lo, I am black but I am comely too, 
Black as the night, black as the deep dark caves. 
I am the scion of a race of slaves
Who helped to build a nation strong that you 
And I may stand within the world’s full view, 
Fearless and firm as dreadnoughts on rough waves; 
Holding a banner high whose floating braves
The opposition of the tried untrue. 

Casting an eye of love upon my face, 
Seeing a newer light within my eyes, 
A rarer beauty in your brother race
Will merge upon your visioning fullwise. 
Though I am black my heart through love is pure, 
And you through love my blackness shall endure!”

The day is a Negro 
   Yelling out of breath. 
The night is a Negro
    Laughing up to death. 

The day is a jazz band 
   Blasting loud and wild. 
The night is a jazz band
   Moaning Blues songs, child. 

The day is the sunshine 
   Undressed in the stree. 
The night is the sunshine
   Dressed from head to feet. 

I am like a rainbow 
  Arched across the way. 
Yes, I am a rainbow
  Being night nor day. 

I return the bitterness,
   Which you gave to me;
When I wanted loveliness
   Tantalant and free.

I return the bitterness
   It is washed by tears;
Now it is a loveliness
   Garnished through the years.

I return it loveliness,
   Having made it so;
For I wore the bitterness
   From it long ago.

Thou art not dead, although the spoiler’s hand
Lies heavy as death upon thee; though the wrath
Of its accursed might is in thy path
And has usurped thy children of their land;
Though yet the scourges of a monstrous band
Roam on thy ruined fields, thy trampled lanes,
Thy ravaged homes and desolated fanes;
Thou art not dead, but sleeping,—Motherland.

A mighty country, valorous and free,
Thou shalt outlive this terror and this pain;
Shall call thy scattered children back to thee,
Strong with the memory of their brothers slain;
And rise from out thy charnel house to be
Thine own immortal, brilliant self again!

I turned to the world for silence 
    But only turmoil kept
The very hills and valleys 
    Where beauty once had crept.

I turned to my heart for silence 
   I did not find it there,
For therein were the tyrants 
  Sorrow and despair.

I turned to my soul for silence— 
   There like a pensive pool
Was silence like a king in state 
   Calm, serene, and cool.