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Chilled into a serenity
As rigid as your pose
You linger trustingly,
But a gutter waits for you.
Your elegance does not secure
You favors with the sun.
He is not one to pity fragileness.
He thinks all cheeks should burn
And feel how tears can run.
From Caroling Dusk (Harper & Brothers, 1927), edited by Countee Cullen. This poem is in the public domain.
Four great walls have hemmed me in.
Four strong, high walls:
Right and wrong,
Shall and shan’t.
The mighty pillars tremble when
My conscience palls
And sings its song—
I can, I can’t.
It crawled away from ’neath my feet
And left me standing there;
A little at a time, went up
An atmospheric stair.
I couldn’t go for watching it,
To see where it would stop;
A tree sprang out and waved to me
When it had reached the top.
She walked along the crowded street
Forgetting all but that she
Was walking as the other girls
And dressed as carefully.
The windows of the stores were frilled
To lure femininity,
To empty little pocketbooks
And assuage queen vanity.