Claude McKay

“ Ghosts are turned flesh, throwing off the grave's disguise,
And the foolish, even children, are made wise;
For the big earth groans in travail for the strong, new world in making—
Oh my brothers, dreaming for dim centuries,
Wake from sleeping; to the East turn, turn you eyes!
Oh the night is sweet for sleeping, but the shining day's for working ”

“ Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing
⁠Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,
⁠And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing,
And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying,
And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling
⁠From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea
That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling
⁠Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!
⁠There, oh there! on the island of the sea
⁠There I would be at dawn.
⁠The tired cars go grumbling by,
⁠The crazy, lazy cars,
⁠And the same milk-carts go rumbling by
⁠Under the dying stars. ”