Liberian Literary Magazine
January Issue 0115
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
LANGSTON HUGHES
The Old Bridge At Florence
I, Too
Taddeo Gaddi built me. I am old,
Five centuries old. I plant my foot of stone
Upon the Arno, as St. Michael's own
Was planted on the dragon. Fold by fold
Beneath me as it struggles. I behold
Its glistening scales. Twice hath it overthrown
My kindred and companions. Me alone
It moveth not, but is by me controlled.
I can remember when the Medici
Were driven from Florence; longer still ago
The final wars of Ghibelline and Guelf.
Florence adorns me with her jewelry;
And when I think that Michael Angelo
Hath leaned on me, I glory in myself.
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.
BESSIE RAYNER PARKES
Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--
Absence
I AM not lonely, O my Love,
Save in so far I have not thee,
Without whose smile the changeful days
Are all alike to me.
I, too, am America.
Yet while the Winter blooms to Spring,
And Summer doth to Autumn wane,
I will not say their various wealth
Is lavished forth in vain.
SARA TEASDALE
The Tree
Since Nature hath November days,
Wherein she broods on future flowers,
We may not put less noble use
To any time of ours.
I sang my songs for the rest,
For you I am still;
The tree of my song is bare
On its shining hill.
Their own soft lights and tender glooms
To poet's eye and poet's ear,
Hath every feeling of the heart,
And season of the year.
For you came like a lordly wind,
And the leaves were whirled
Far as forgotten things
Past the rim of the world.
Ah! pondering on the hours I gain,
And counting up the hours I lose,
I find them both so full of love,
I scarce know which to choose.
The tree of my song stands bare
Against the blue -I gave my songs to the rest,
Myself to you.
With thee the joy is almost pain,
And swift the days fleet by;
I find thee not in sight more dear,
Nor less in absence nigh.
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