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


At close of day, I couch me at my ease
In solitude, far from dull mammon's roar,
And let the rain of thought upon me pour
In showers, hard or soft as they may please:
Sometimes like gentle patter, thro’ the trees,
Of joyous rains of spring, they touch the core
Of my parched self, reviving flowers of yore--
Pansies and sweet forget-me-nots, to tease
Old memories! sometimes a torrent breaks
Raging with fiendish fury 'til it shakes
My world of dreams wrecking my castles there,
Leaving my gardens desolate and bare,
When, from life's gilded pleasures shut away,
I seek my lonely couch at close of day.

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