Countee Cullen

To a Brown Girl

What if his glance is bold and free,
His mouth the lash of whips?
So should the eyes of lovers be
And so a lovers lips.

What if no puritanic strain
Confines him to the nice?
He will not pass this way or again
Or hunger for you twice.

Since in the end consort together
Magdalen and Mary,
Youth is the time for careless weather;
Later lass, be wary.