Women of the Early Harlem Renaissance: African American Women Writers 1900-1922


I rest me deep within the wood,
   Drawn by its silent call,
Far from the throbbing crowd of men
   On nature's breast I fall.
My couch is sweet with blossoms fair,
   A bed of fragrant dreams,
And soft upon my ear there falls
   The lullaby of streams.
The tumult of my heart is stilled,
   Within this sheltered spot.
Deep in the bosom of the wood.
   Forgetting, and — forgot!

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