English

Erce, Erce, Erce, Mother of earth,
May the All-Wielder, Lord Eternal,
Give flourishing acres of sprouting shoots,
Acres bountiful bringing to harvest
Tall stalks and shining growth,
Acres of broad harvest of barley,
Acres of white harvest of wheat,
And all the harvests of earth!
May Eternal God and His saints in heaven
Defend earth's growth from every foe
That it may be shielded from every evil,
And every sorcery sowed through the land.
Now I pray the All-Wielder who shaped the world

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Maid of dark eyes, that glow with shy sweet fire,
 Song lingers on thy beauty till it dies
In awe and longing on the smitten Iyre:
 Maid of dark eyes.
Grant me thy love, earth's last surpassing prize,
 Me, cast upon the faggots of love's pyre
For love of the white bosom that underlies
The subtle passion of thy snowy attire,
 The shadowy secret of thine amorous thighs,
The inmost shrine of my supreme desire,
 Maid of dark eyes!

The lies I could tell,
when I was growing up
light-bright, near-white,
high-yellow, red-boned
in a black place,
were just white lies.

I could easily tell the white folks
that we lived uptown,
not in that pink and green
shanty-fied shotgun section
along the tracks. I could act
like my homemade dresses
came straight out the window
of Maison Blanche. I could even
keep quiet, quiet as kept,
like the time a white girl said
(squeezing my hand), Now
we have three of us in this class.

Entering the Hall, she meets the new wife:
Leaving the gate, she runs into her former husband.
Words stick: she does not manage to say anything:
She presses her hands together and hesitates.
Agitates moon-like fan — sheds pearl-like tears —
Realizes she loves him just as much as ever:
That her present pain will never come to an end.

Enough : you have the dream, the flame;
Free it henceforth:
The South has given you a name;—
Now for the North.

Unsheathe your ship from where she lies,
In narrow ease;
Fling out her sails to the tall skies,
Flout the sharp seas.

Beyond bleak headlands wistful burn
Warm lights of home;
In shutting darkness frays astern,
Far-spun, the foam.

Come wide sea-dawns, that empty are
Of wet sea sand;
Come eves, that lay beneath a star
No lull of land.

And whether on faint iris wings

Enigmatical, tremulous,
Voice of the troubled wires,
What remembering desires
Wail to me, wandering thus
Up through the night with a cry,
Inarticulate, insane.
Out of the night of the street and the rain
Into the rain and the night of the sky?

Inarticulate voice of my heart,
Rusty, a worn-out thing,
Harsh with a broken string,
Mended, and pulled apart,
All the old tunes played through,
Fretted by hands that have played,
Tremulous voice that cries to me out of the shade,

With its baby rivers and little towns, each with its abbey or its/cathedral,
with voices — one voice perhaps, echoing through the transept — the
criterion of suitability and convenience: and Italy
with its equal shores — contriving an epicureanism
from which the grossness has been extracted:

and Greece with its goat and its gourds,
the nest of modified illusions: and France,
the " chrysalis of the nocturnal butterfly, "
in whose products mystery of construction
diverts one from what was originally one's object —

E NGLAND , we love thee better than we know —
And this I learned, when, after wanderings long
'Mid people of another stock and tongue,
I heard again thy martial music blow,
And saw thy gallant children to and fro
Pace, keeping ward at one of those huge gates,
Which, like twin-giants, watch the Herculean straits:
When first I came in sight of that brave show,
It made my very heart within me dance,
To think that thou thy proud foot shouldst advance
Forward so far into the mighty sea;
Joy was it and exultation to behold

Encouragement is what I need, encouraged I ought to be,
Encouragement from one like you is all and all to me;
I like to speak encouraging to any one I meet,
I feel encouraged when I do, for they encourage me.

We are here to encourage anything that is right;
God intends it thus to be, and we will win a home
That will not fade whenever we cross life's sea,
Let us remember that encouragement belongs to God's great plan

Of making pilgrims happy while traveling through this land —

Some day, some day
O troubled breast,
Shalt thou find rest.
If Love in thee
To grief give birth,
Six feet of earth
Can more than he;
There calm and free
And unoppressed
Shalt thou find rest.
The unattained
In life at last,
When life is passed
Shall all be gained;
And no more pained,
No more distressed,
Shalt thou find rest.