| James Weldon Johnson, ed. (18711938). The Book of American Negro Poetry. 1922. |
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| | | Georgia Douglas Johnson |
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| WOULD I might mend the fabric of my youth | |
| That daily flaunts its tatters to my eyes, | |
| Would I might compromise awhile with truth | |
| Until our moon now waxing, wanes and dies. | |
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| For I would go a further while with you, | 5 |
| And drain this cup so tantalant and fair | |
| Which meets my parched lips like cooling dew, | |
| Ere time has brushed cold fingers thru my hair! | |
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