Countee Cullen (Каунти Каллен)

Simon the Cyrenian Speaks

He never spoke a word to me,
And yet He called my name;
He never gave a sign to me,
And yet I knew and came. 
At first I said, ”I will not bear
His cross upon my back;
He only seeks to place it there
Because my skin is black.”

But He was dying for a dream,
And He was very meek,
And in His eyes there shone a gleam
Men journey far to seek.

It was Himself my pity bought;
I did for Christ alone
What all of Rome could not have wrought
With bruise of lash or stone.

1. Harlem Wine
2. Under the Mistletoe
3. In Memory of Col. Charles Young
4. Uncle Jim
5. Youth Sings a Song of Rosebuds

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1771

Последние стихотворения

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