Classic Poem

There was profusion in the gift
Of beauty in her face,
And in her very form and air
An inexpressible grace.

Her rustling silk, moire-antique,
The daintless taste would please;
Her life in all appearances
Was opulence and ease.

It could be seen from head to foot,
And in her piercing eye,
That she had had advantage of
All that hard cash could buy.

But Oh! it was so sad to see,
That in her heart was pain,
That caste should force this Negro queen
To cold and proud disdain.

That one so beautiful as she,
Could any sphere adorn,
Should so be made to hate a heart
And give back scorn for scorn.

For all her wealth and gifts of grace,
Could not appease the sham
Of justice that discriminates
Against the blood of Ham.