Her face is like an ancient cameo
Turned brown by the ages.
Come with a blast of trumpets,
When Susanna Jones wears red
A queen from some time-dead Egyptian night
Walks once again.
Blow trumpets, Jesus!
And the beauty of Susanna Jones in red
Burns in in my heart a love-fire sharp like pain.
Sweet silver trumpets,
Published in The Crisis, February 1923
Also published in The Weary Blues, 1925