African American Poetry (1870-1928): A Digital Anthology

Harlem Wine by Countee Cullen

This is not water running here,
   These thick rebellious streams
That hurtle flesh and bone past fear
   Down alleyways of dreams.

This is a wine that must flow on
   Not caring how nor where,
So it has ways to flow upon
   Where song is in the air.

So it can woo an artful flute
   With loose, elastic lips, 
Its measurement of joy compute
   With blithe, ecstatic hips.

This page has paths:

This page has tags: