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

Whene'er I Lift My Eyes to Bliss

Whene'er I lift my eyes to bliss,
   I stagger blind with pain,
Afar into the folding night
   The silence, and the rain.
Whene'er I feel the urge of Spring,
   A throbbing, unknown woe
Enfolds me; I am desolate
   When love is calling low.

This page has paths: