FLAME-HEART
by: Claude McKay (1890-1948)
- O much have
I forgotten in ten years,
- So much in ten brief years! I have forgot
- What time the purple apples come to juice,
- And what month brings the shy forget-me-not.
- I have forgot the special, startling season
- Of the pimento's flowering and fruiting;
- What time of year the ground doves brown the fields
- And fill the noonday with their curious fluting.
- I have forgotten much, but still remember
- The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.
-
- I still recall the honey-fever grass,
- But cannot recollect the high days when
- We rooted them out of the ping-wing path
- To stop the mad bees in the rabbit pen.
- I often try to think in what sweet month
- The languid painted ladies used to dapple
- The yellow by-road mazing from the main,
- Sweet with the golden threads of the rose-apple.
- I have forgotten--strange--but quite remember
- The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.
-
- What weeks, what months, what time of the mild year
- We cheated school to have our fling at tops?
- What days our wine-thrilled bodies pulsed with joy
- Feasting upon blackberries in the copse?
- Oh some I know! I have embalmed the days
- Even the sacred moments when we played,
- All innocent of passion, uncorrupt,
- At noon and evening in the flame-heart's shade.
- We were so happy, happy, I remember,
- Beneath the poinsettia's red in warm December.
"Flame-Heart" is reprinted
from Harlem Shadows. Claude McKay. New York: Harcourt,
Brace and Company, 1922. |
MORE
POEMS BY CLAUDE MCKAY |
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