For One Who Gayly Sowed His Oats
My days were a thing for me to live,
For others to deplore;
I took of life all it could give:
Rind, inner fruit, and core.
This poem is in the public domain.
Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.
What is Africa to me:
Copper sun or scarlet sea,
Jungle star or jungle track,
Strong bronzed men, or regal black
Women from whose loins I sprang
When the birds of Eden sang?
One three centuries removed
From the scenes his fathers loved,