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Poem by Claude McKay


The Lynching


His Spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven. 
His father, by the cruelest way of pain, 
Had bidden him to his bosom once again; 
The awful sin remained still unforgiven. 
All night a bright and solitary star 
(Perchance the one that ever guided him, 
Yet gave him up at last to FateТs wild whim) 
Hung pitifully oТer the swinging char. 
Day dawned, and soon the mixed crowds came to view 
The ghastly body swaying in the sun 
The women thronged to look, but never a one 
Showed sorrow in her eyes of steely blue; 
And little lads, lynchers that were to be, 
Danced round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee.



Claude McKay


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


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