I am the lemon-lily queen. Midnight crepe-myrtle is my hair, My face curves down to my pointed chin Betwixt my golden earrings like a warm seckle pear. My tunic is a withered buff rose. Palely my arms fall down. The fiddles leap behind me, a thin flute blows, Cr-r-racks a sudden trombone, then all notes drown. In the drum's eager rustle. Juggling the sticks Brown Joe tosses an aristocratic head -- Bow to right, smile to left, flourishing the tricks Of some fancy colonel his grandmother never wed. My walk is a poplar blown, Gift of a moon-white dame Whose star-white son left me besides My golden color of shame. The tom-tom is throbbing in my heart And the orchestra's catching surges; I sing you foolish airs -- That burst with shadowy dirges. I voice my wild black mothers: I drone them cool and low; I croon the winds that blew and ceased A thousand years ago. I wail my captive fathers, The violins complain; I hone for a passionate wilderness And the pelt of tropic rain. I beat my hands and cry, The 'cellos moan and quiver; I fling my curse to a far-off sky Over a jungled river. I lift my arms and lean To the white song's white embrace, But I yearn to a thousand lovers Of my black forgotten race. * * * * The sooty leader sways, The violins flicker and hum, The wood-winds speak, the cornet brays, Joe is in a frenzy at the drum. And I am the tea-rose queen, Daughter of milk and wine; Like a willow blown I bow and I bow, And my earrings tremble and shine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEGY: 16. ON HIS MISTRESS by JOHN DONNE THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR by ALFRED TENNYSON THE GLORY OF ALL ENGLAND by EDWARD WILLIAM BOK THE LORDS' MASQUE: FIRST DANCE by THOMAS CAMPION ON THE SIGHT OF A GENTLEWOMAN'S FACE IN THE WATER by THOMAS CAREW THE SADDEST SIGHT by ALICE CARY |