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Countee Cullen, "Three Hundred Years Ago" (1925)
1media/Countee Cullen-Three Hundred Years Ago-the Crisis-April 1925_thumb.png2022-06-11T07:52:17-04:00Amardeep Singhc185e79df2fca428277052b90841c4aba30044e12131Poem published in The Crisis, April 1925plain2022-06-11T07:52:17-04:00Amardeep Singhc185e79df2fca428277052b90841c4aba30044e1
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12022-06-11T07:51:02-04:00Countee Cullen, "Three Hundred Years Ago" (1925)2plain2022-06-11T07:52:33-04:0004/01/1925 Three hundred years ago there was a land And two who moved With one fair thought: meet hand in hand, And to be loved. Then came a ship and strange, pale men Who gave me drink That made me sleep; I woke -- and then -- The broken link. I am nost sure that you were moved At all, or wept; For you were young and much beloved -- Perhaps you slept. But there was blood, and sweat, and hell, And tears for me, Till one whose voice was like a bell Said, 'Go, be free!' The chains were off, but other things Still held me slave: A stretch of land where gray sand clings To a warm white wave. But more than this, there was yoru face, Beautiful and wise-- Oh, I have sought them every place, Your face and eyes. Three hundred years ago, and yet A day ago; There still the red suns flare and set, The dark winds blow.