by: Benjamin Brawley (1882-1939)
are the sensuous stars, and manifold,
Clear sunbeams burst upon the front of night;
Ten thousand swords of azure and of gold
Give darkness to the dark and welcome light;
Across the night of ages strike the gleams,
And leading on the gilded host appears
An old man writing in a book of dreams,
And telling tales of lovers for the years;
Still Troilus hears a voice that whispers, Stay;
In Nature's garden what a mad rout sings!
Let's hear these motley pilgrims wile away
The tedious hours with stories of old things;
Or might some shining eagle claim
These lowly numbers for the House of Fame!
POEMS BY BENJAMIN BRAWLEY
"Chaucer" is reprinted
from The Book of American Negro Poetry. Ed. James Weldon
Johnson. New York: Harcourt, Brace & Co., 1922.