P.C. Home Page . Recent Additions Harlem Shadows The Poems of Claude McKay

To O. E. A. YOUR voice is the color of a robin's breast,   And there's a sweet sob in it like rain--still rain in the night. Among the leaves of the trumpet-tree, close to his nest,   The pea-dove sings, and each note thrills me with strange delight Like the words, wet with music, that well from your trembling throat.     I'm afraid of your eyes, they're so bold,     Searching me through, reading my thoughts, shining like gold. But sometimes they are gentle and soft like the dew on the lips of the eucharis Before the sun comes warm with his lover's kiss.   You are sea-foam, pure with the star's loveliness, Not mortal, a flower, a fairy, too fair for the beauty-shorn earth. All wonderful things, all beautiful things, gave of their wealth to your birth. Oh I love you so much, not recking of passion, that I feel it is wrong!     But men will love you, flower, fairy, non-mortal spirit burdened with flesh,   Forever, life-long. Claude McKay Romance TO clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed, Scented and warm against my beating breast; To whisper soft and quivering your name, And drink the passion burning in your frame; To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek, And tease your mouth with kisses till you speak Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words, Melodious like notes of mating birds; To hear you ask if I shall love always, And myself answer: Til the end of days; To feel your easeful sigh of happiness When on your trembling lips I murmur: Yes; It is so sweet. We know it is not true. What matters it? The night must shed her dew. We know it is not true, but it is sweet-- The poem with this music is complete. Claude McKay Flower of Love THE perfume of your body dulls my sense.   I want nor wine nor weed; your breath alone Suffices. In this moment rare and tense   I worship at your breast. The flower is blown, The saffron petals tempt my amorous mouth,   The yellow heart is radiant now with dew Soft-scented, redolent of my loved South;   O flower of love! I give myself to you. Uncovered on your couch of figured green,   Here let us linger indivisible. The portals of your sanctuary unseen   Receive my offering, yielding unto me. Oh, with our love the night is warm and deep!   The air is sweet, my flower, and sweet the flute Whose music lulls our burning brain to sleep,   While we lie loving, passionate and mute. Claude McKay The Snow Fairy                 I THROUGHOUT the afternoon I watched them there, Snow-fairies falling, falling from the sky, Whirling fantastic in the misty air, Contending fierce for space supremacy. And they flew down a mightier force at night, As though in heaven there was revolt and riot, And they, frail things had taken panic flight Down to the calm earth seeking peace and quiet. I went to bed and rose at early dawn To see them huddled together in a heap, Each merged into the other upon the lawn, Worn out by the sharp struggle, fast asleep. The sun shone brightly on them half the day, By night they stealthily had stol'n away.                 II And suddenly my thoughts then turned to you Who came to me upon a winter's night, When snow-sprites round my attic window flew, Your hair disheveled, eyes aglow with light. My heart was like the weather when you came, The wanton winds were blowing loud and long; But you, with joy and passion all aflame, You danced and sang a lilting summer song. I made room for you in my little bed, Took covers from the closet fresh and warm, A downful pillow for your scented head, And lay down with you resting in my arm. You went with Dawn. You left me ere the day, The lonely actor of a dreamy play. Claude McKay La Paloma In London ABOUT Soho we went before the light; We went, unresting six, craving new fun, New scenes, new raptures, for the fevered night Of rollicking laughter, drink and song, was done. The vault was void, but for the dawn's great star That shed upon our path its silver flame, When La Paloma on a low guitar Abruptly from a darkened casement came-- Harlem! All else shut out, I saw the hall, And you in your red shoulder sash come dancing With Val against me languid by the wall, Your burning coffee-colored eyes keen glancing Aslant at mine, proud in your golden glory! I loved you, Cuban girl, fond sweet Diory. Claude McKay A Memory Of June WHEN June comes dancing o'er the death of May,   With scarlet roses tinting her green breast, And mating thrushes ushering in her day,   And Earth on tiptoe for her golden guest, I always see the evening when we met--   The first of June baptized in tender rain-- And walked home through the wide streets, gleaming wet,   Arms locked, our warm flesh pulsing with love's pain. I always see the cheerful little room,   And in the corner, fresh and white, the bed, Sweet scented with a delicate perfume,   Wherein for one night only we were wed; Where in the starlit stillness we lay mute,   And heard the whispering showers all night long, And your brown burning body was a lute   Whereon my passion played his fevered song. When June comes dancing o'er the death of May,   With scarlet roses staining her fair feet, My soul takes leave of me to sing all day   A love so fugitive and so complete. Claude McKay Fliration UPON thy purple mat thy body bare   Is fine and limber like a tender tree. The motion of thy supple form is rare,   Like a lithe panther lolling languidly, Toying and turning slowly in her lair.   Oh, I would never ask for more of thee, Thou art so clean in passion and so fair.   Enough! if thou wilt ask no more of me! Claude McKay Tormented I WILL not reason, wrestle here with you,   Though you pursue and worry me about; As well put forth my swarthy arm to stop   The wild wind howling, darkly mad without. The night is yours for revels; day will light.   I will not fight you, bold and tigerish, For I am weak, while you are gaining strength;   Peace! cease tormenting me to have your wish. But when you're filled and sated with the flesh,   I shall go swiftly to the silver stream, To cleanse my body for the spirit's sake,   And sun my limbs, and close my eyes to dream. Claude McKay Polarity NAY, why reproach each other, be unkind,   For there's no plane on which we two may meet? Let's both forgive, forget, for both were blind,   And life is of a day, and time is fleet. And I am fire, swift to flame and burn,   Melting with elements high overhead, While you are water in an earthly urn,   All pure, but heavy, and of hue like lead. Claude McKay One Year After                 I NOT once in all our days of poignant love, Did I a single instant give to thee My undivided being wholly free. Not all thy potent passion could remove The barrier that loomed between to prove The full supreme surrendering of me. Oh, I was beaten, helpless utterly Against the shadow-fact with which I strove. For when a cruel power forced me to face The truth which poisoned our illicit wine, That even I was faithless to my race Bleeding beneath the iron hand of thine, Our union seemed a monstrous thing and base! I was an outcast from thy world and mine.                 II Adventure-seasoned and storm-buffeted, I shun all signs of anchorage, because The zest of life exceeds the bound of laws. New gales of tropic fury round my head Break lashing me through hours of soulful dread; But when the terror thins and, spent, withdraws, Leaving me wondering awhile, I pause-- But soon again the risky ways I tread! No rigid road for me, no peace, no rest, While molten elements run through my blood; And beauty-burning bodies manifest Their warm, heart-melting motions to be wooed; And passion boldly rising in my breast, Like rivers of the Spring, lets loose its flood. Claude McKay French Leave NO servile little fear shall daunt my will   This morning. I have courage steeled to say I will be lazy, conqueringly still,   I will not lose the hours in toil this day. The roaring world without, careless of souls,   Shall leave me to my placid dream of rest, My four walls shield me from its shouting ghouls,   And all its hates have fled my quiet breast. And I will loll here resting, wide awake,   Dead to the world of work, the world of love, I laze contented just for dreaming's sake   With not the slightest urge to think or move. How tired unto death, how tired I was!   Now for a day I put my burdens by, And like a child amidst the meadow grass   Under the southern sun, I languid lie And feel the bed about me kindly deep,   My strength ooze gently from my hollow bones, My worried brain drift aimlessly to sleep,   Like softening to a song of tuneful tones. Claude McKay Jasmines YOUR scent is in the room. Swiftly it overwhelms and conquers me! Jasmines, night jasmines, perfect of perfume, Heavy with dew before the dawn of day! Your face was in the mirror. I could see You smile and vanish suddenly away, Leaving behind the vestige of a tear. Sad suffering face, from parting grown so dear! Night jasmines cannot bloom in this cold place; Without the street is wet and weird with snow; The cold nude trees are tossing to and fro; Too stormy is the night for your fond face; For your low voice too loud the wind's mad roar. But, oh, your scent is here--jasmines that grow Luxuriant, clustered round your cottage door! Claude McKay Commemoration WHEN first your glory shone upon my face   My body kindled to a mighty flame, And burnt you yielding in my hot embrace   Until you swooned to love, breathing my name. And wonder came and filled our night of sleep,   Like a new comet crimsoning the sky; And stillness like the stillness of the deep   Suspended lay as an unuttered sigh. I never again shall feel your warm heart flushed,   Panting with passion, naked unto mine, Until the throbbing world around is hushed   To quiet worship at our scented shrine. Nor will your glory seek my swarthy face,   To kindle and to change my jaded frame Into a miracle of godlike grace,   Transfigured, bathed in your immortal flame. Claude McKay Memorial YOUR body was a sacred cell always,   A jewel that grew dull in garish light, An opal which beneath my wondering gaze   Gleamed rarely, softly throbbing in the night. I touched your flesh with reverential hands,   For you were sweet and timid like a flower That blossoms out of barren tropic sands,   Shedding its perfume in one golden hour. You yielded to my touch with gentle grace,   And though my passion was a mighty wave That buried you beneath its strong embrace,   You were yet happy in the moment's grave. Still more than passion consummate to me,   More than the nuptials immemorial sung, Was the warm thrill that melted me to see   Your clean brown body, beautiful and young; The joy in your maturity at length,   The peace that filled my soul like cooling wine, When you responded to my tender strength,   And pressed your heart exulting into mine. How shall I with such memories of you   In coarser forms of love fruition find? No, I would rather like a ghost pursue   The fairy phantoms of my lonely mind. Claude McKay Thirst MY spirit wails for water, water now! My tongue is aching dry, my throat is hot For water, fresh rain shaken from a bough, Or dawn dews heavy in some leafy spot. My hungry body's burning for a swim In sunlit water where the air is cool, As in Trout Valley where upon a limb The golden finch sings sweetly to the pool. Oh water, water, when the night is done, When day steals gray-white through the windowpane, Clear silver water when I wake, alone, All impotent of parts, of fevered brain; Pure water from a forest fountain first, To wash me, cleanse me, and to quench my thirst! Claude McKay Futility OH, I have tried to laugh the pain away, Let new flames brush my love-springs like a feather. But the old fever seizes me to-day, As sickness grips a soul in wretched weather. I have given up myself to every urge, With not a care of precious powers spent, Have bared my body to the strangest scourge, To soothe and deaden my heart's unhealing rent. But you have torn a nerve out of my frame, A gut that no physician can replace, And reft my life of happiness and aim. Oh what new purpose shall I now embrace? What substance hold, what lovely form pursue, When my thought burns through everything to you? Claude McKay Through Agony                 I ALL night, through the eternity of night, Pain was my potion though I could not feel. Deep in my humbled heart you ground your heel, Till I was reft of even my inner light, Till reason from my mind had taken flight, And all my world went whirling in a reel. And all my swarthy strength turned cold like steel, A passive mass beneath your puny might. Last night I gave you triumph over me, So I should be myself as once before, I marveled at your shallow mystery, And haunted hungrily your temple door. I gave you sum and substance to be free, Oh, you shall never triumph any more!                 II I do not fear to face the fact and say, How darkly-dull my living hours have grown, My wounded heart sinks heavier than stone, Because I loved you longer than a day! I do not shame to turn myself away From beckoning flowers beautifully blown, To mourn your vivid memory alone In mountain fastnesses austerely gray. The mists will shroud me on the utter height, The salty, brimming waters of my breast Will mingle with the fresh dews of the night To bathe my spirit hankering to rest. But after sleep I'll wake with greater might, Once more to venture on the eternal quest. Claude McKay B A C K to the Contents of Harlem Shadows Poets' Corner . H O M E . E-mail