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Poem by Countee Cullen


Youth Sings a Song of Rosebuds


Since men grow diffident at last,
And care no whit at all,
If spring be come, or the fall be past,
Or how the cool rains fall,
I come to no flower but I pluck,
I raise no cup but I sip,
For a mouth is the best of sweets to suck;
The oldest wine's on the lip.
If I grow old in a year or two,
And come to the querulous song
Of "Alack and aday" and "This was true,
And that, when I was young,"
I must have sweets to remember by,
Some blossom saved from the mire,
Some death-rebellious ember I
Can fan into a fire.



Countee Cullen


Countee Cullen's other poems:
  1. She of the Dancing Feet Sings
  2. Karenge Ya Marenge
  3. To a Brown Girl
  4. The Wakeupworld
  5. The Shroud of Color


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