By Countee Cullen
What if you come
Again and swell
The throat of some
Mute bird;
How shall I tell?
How shall I know.
That it is so,
Having heard?
Done, let no trick
Of what’s to come
Deceive; the quick
So soon grow dumb;
With wine and bread
Our feast is spread;
Let’s leave no crumb.
Again and swell
The throat of some
Mute bird;
How shall I tell?
How shall I know.
That it is so,
Having heard?
Done, let no trick
Of what’s to come
Deceive; the quick
So soon grow dumb;
With wine and bread
Our feast is spread;
Let’s leave no crumb.
