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Poem by Claude McKay


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

Claude McKay's other poems:
  1. Through Agony
  2. Memorial
  3. Thirst
  4. One Year After
  5. Enslaved

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