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.

1. That Bright Chimeric Beast
2. Youth Sings a Song of Rosebuds
3. The Shroud of Color
4. To Certain Critics
5. Karenge Ya Marenge

Print

1247 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version