Page:Negro poets and their poems (IA negropoetstheirp00kerl).pdf/188

166 “To some a store of mystic lore, To some to shine a star: The first I gave to Allan Poe, The last to Paul Dunbar. Since thou hast waited patient, long, Now by my throne I swear To give to thee my sweetest song To sing in Harvard Square.” And when she gave her parting kiss And bade a long farewell, I sat serene in perfect bliss As she forsook my cell. Upon the altar-fire she poured Some incense very rare; Its fragrance sweet my soul assured I’d enter Harvard Square. Declining on my couch, I slept A sleep sweet and profound; O’er me the blessed angels kept Their vigil close around. With dawning’s smile, my fondest hope Shone radiant and fair: The Justice cut each chain and rope ’Tween me and Harvard Square!

Of all the Negro poets whose writings I have perused, Edward Smythe Jones is the most difficult to estimate with certainty. There is an eloquence and luxuriance of language and imagery in his stanzas which perplexes the critic and yet persuades him to repeated readings. The result,