Selected Poems of Langston Hughes Read Free Page B

an
    Autumn flower
    In the frozen rain,
    Like a
    Wind-blown autumn flower
    That never lifts its head
    Again.
Island
    Wave of sorrow,
    Do not drown me now:
    I see the island
    Still ahead somehow.
    I see the island
    And its sands are fair:
    Wave of sorrow,
    Take me there.

DISTANCE
NOWHERE
Border Line
    I used to wonder
    About living and dying—
    I think the difference lies
    Between tears and crying.
    I used to wonder
    About here and there—
    I think the distance
    Is nowhere.
Garden
    Strange
    Distorted blades of grass,
    Strange
    Distorted trees,
    Strange
    Distorted tulips
    On their knees.
Genius Child
    This is a song for the genius child.
    Sing it softly, for the song is wild.
    Sing it softly as ever you can—
    Lest the song get out of hand.
    Nobody loves a genius child
.
    Can you love an eagle,
    Tame or wild?
    Wild or tame,
    Can you love a monster
    Of frightening name?
    Nobody loves a genius child
.
    Kill him
—and let his soul run wild!
Strange Hurt
    In times of stormy weather
    She felt queer pain
    That said,
    “You’ll find rain better
    Than shelter from the rain.”
    Days filled with fiery sunshine
    Strange hurt she knew
    That made
    Her seek the burning sunlight
    Rather than the shade.
    In months of snowy winter
    When cozy houses hold,
    She’d break down doors
    To wander naked
    In the cold.
Suicide’s Note
    The calm,
    Cool face of the river
    Asked me for a kiss.
End
    There are
    No clocks on the wall,
    And no time,
    No shadows that move
    From dawn to dusk
    Across the floor.
    There is neither light
    Nor dark
    Outside the door.
    There is no door!
Drum
    Bear in mind
    That death is a drum
    Beating forever
    Till the last worms come
    To answer its call,
    Till the last stars fall,
    Until the last atom
    Is no atom at all,
    Until time is lost
    And there is no air
    And space itself
    Is nothing nowhere,
    Death is a drum,
    A signal drum,
    Calling life
    To come!
    Come!
    Come!
Personal
    In an envelope marked:
        
Personal
    God addressed me a letter.
    In an envelope marked:
        
Personal
    I have given my answer.
Juliet
    Wonder
    And pain
    And terror,
    And sick silly songs
    Of sorrow,
    And the marrow
    Of the bone
    Of life
    Are smeared across
    Her mouth.
    The road
    From Verona
    To Mantova
    Is dusty
    With the drought.
Desire
    Desire to us
    Was like a double death,
    Swift dying
    Of our mingled breath,
    Evaporation
    Of an unknown strange perfume
    Between us quickly
    In a naked
    Room.
Vagabonds
    We are the desperate
    Who do not care,
    The hungry
    Who have nowhere
    To eat,
    No place to sleep,
    The tearless
    Who cannot
    Weep.
One
    Lonely
    As the wind
    On the Lincoln
    Prairies.
    Lonely
    As a bottle of licker
    On a table
    All by itself.
Desert
    Anybody
    Better than
    Nobody.
    In the barren dusk
    Even the snake
    That spirals
    Terror on the sand—
    Better than nobody
    In this lonely
    Land.
A House in Taos
    Rain
    Thunder of the Rain God:
        And we three
        Smitten by beauty.
    Thunder of the Rain God:
        And we three
        Weary, weary.
    Thunder of the Rain God:
        And you, she, and I
        Waiting for nothingness.
    Do you understand the stillness
        Of this house
        In Taos
    Under the thunder of the Rain God?
    Sun
    That there should be a barren garden
    About this house in Taos
    Is not so strange,
    But that there should be three barren hearts
    In this one house in Taos—
    Who carries ugly things to show the sun?
    Moon
    Did you ask for the beaten brass of the moon?
    We can buy lovely things with money,
    You, she, and I,
    Yet you seek,
    As though you could keep,
    This unbought loveliness of moon.
    Wind
    Touch our bodies, wind.
    Our bodies are separate, individual things.
    Touch our bodies, wind,
    But blow quickly
    Through the red, white, yellow skins
    Of our bodies
    To the terrible snarl,
    Not mine,
    Not yours,
    Not hers,
    But all one snarl of souls.
    Blow quickly, wind,
    Before we run back
    Into the windlessness—
    With our bodies—
    Into the