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Poem by Countee Cullen


The Wise


Dead men are wisest, for they know
How far the roots of flowers go,
How long a seed must rot to grow.

Dead men alone bear frost and rain
On throbless heart and heatless brain,
And feel no stir of joy or pain.

Dead men alone are satiate;
They sleep and dream and have no weight,
To curb their rest, of love or hate.

Strange, men should flee their company,
Or think me strange who long to be
Wrapped in their cool immunity.



Countee Cullen


Countee Cullen's other poems:
  1. From the Dark Tower
  2. Simon the Cyrenian Speaks
  3. That Bright Chimeric Beast
  4. Karenge Ya Marenge
  5. Yet Do I Marvel


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