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


I called you through the silent night
   Across the brooding deep,
I sought you in the shadowland
   From out the world — asleep;
No answer echoed to my call,
   And now my way I thread
About the lowly mounds that rise
   Among the silent dead.
Though voiceless, you will hear my call,
   Your soul will heed my cry.
Will rise, and mock the prison where
   Your bones recumbent lie.

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