Poem by Claude McKay

Tormented

I will not reason, wrestle here with you, 
Though you pursue and worry me about; 
As well put forth my swarthy arm to stop 
The wild wind howling, darkly mad without. 

The night is yours for revels; day will light. 
I will not fight you, bold and tigerish, 
For I am weak, while you are gaining strength; 
Peace! cease tormenting me to have your wish. 

But when you’re filled and sated with the flesh, 
I shall go swiftly to the silver stream, 
To cleanse my body for the spirit’s sake, 
And sun my limbs, and close my eyes to dream.

1. Alfonso, Dressing to Wait at Table
2. The Wild Goat
3. The Tired Worker
4. Flirtation
5. Harlem Shadows

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