’Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land,Taught my benighted soul to understandThat there’s a God, that there’s a Saviour too:Once I redemption neither sought nor knew.Some view our sable race with scornful eye,‘Their colour is a diabolic die.’Remember, Christians, Negros, black as Cain,May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train.Phillis Wheatley, On Being Brought from Africa to America I first heard …
Continue reading Poetry: Wheatley – On Being Brought from Africa to America
Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow.Even as our cloudy fancies take Suddenly shape in some divine expression,Even as the troubled heart doth make In the white countenance confession, The troubled sky reveals The grief it feels.This is …
"Never again? Why not again? Memory has power as real as thine." #Brontë
O come with me, thus ran the song,The moon is bright in Autumn’s sky,And thou hast toiled and laboured longWith aching head and weary eye.Emily Jane Brontë I stumbled across this poem recently. I realized that while I knew of the Brontë sisters’ novels, I knew very little of their poetry. This one stuck out …
Madelyn Rose Craig 