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african american poetry

be not angry with me
from our hidden places
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
like eagles on up high
though love repine, and reason chafe
i bid them all farewell
night was black and drear
a few more windy days
i saw god. do you doubt it?
beside a stricken field
stern cold man
all those treasures that lie
he speaks not well
sun stepped down from his golden throne

 



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