Poem by Claude McKay

O Word I Love to Sing

O word I love to sing! thou art too tender 
For all the passions agitating me; 
For all my bitterness thou art too tender, 
I cannot pour my red soul into thee. 

O haunting melody! thou art too slender, 
Too fragile like a globe of crystal glass; 
For all my stormy thoughts thou art too slender, 
The burden from my bosom will not pass. 

O tender word! O melody so slender! 
O tears of passion saturate with brine, 
O words, unwilling words, ye can not render 
My hatred for the foe of me and mine.

1. Spring in New Hampshire
2. Dawn in New York
3. Winter in the Country
4. Alfonso, Dressing to Wait at Table
5. Rest in Peace

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