DEAD FIRES
by: Jesse Fauset (1882-1961)
 F this is
peace, this dead and leaden thing,
Then better far the hateful fret, the sting.
Better the wound forever seeking balm
Than this gray calm!
-
- Is this pain's surcease? Better far the ache,
The long-drawn dreary day, the night's white wake,
Better the choking sigh, the sobbing breath
Than passion's death!
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"Dead Fires" is reprinted
from The Book of American Negro Poetry. Ed. James Weldon
Johnson. New York: Harcourt, Brace & Co., 1922 |
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POEMS BY JESSE FAUSET |
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