Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By MauriceThompson938 A Creole Slave-Song
W
Sings to the sun from yonder tree?
What girl is that so slim and fleet,
Comes through the cane her love to meet?
Foli zo-zo, sing merrily.
The pretty girl she comes to me!
What perfume from a far-off rose
Fills me with dreams? What strange, vague pain
Stirs in my heart? What longing vain
Is this that through my bosom goes?
O south wind, perfume and desire,
You kiss, you soothe, you burn like fire!
There is no bird; my love comes not;
The wind chills me from head to feet,
And oh, it brings no perfume sweet.
My slender girl the white man bought,
And took her far across the bay—
I cannot cut the cane to-day!
O zo-zo, moquer, come and sing!
O warm wind, through the cane-field stray,
Wave the long moss so soft and gray!
I have no heart for anything;
But life was heaven and work was play
When my love loved me every day!
When I was young and blithe and strong!
The earth was green, the sky was blue,
My love’s eyes were as bright as dew;
And life was like the zo-zo’s song!
But you—you sold my love away—
I cannot cut the cane to-day!
A man, and right a grievous wrong.
I writhed and bore your cruelty;
I felt the soul go out of me;
And yet, I was so lion-strong
I could have torn your heart away—
I cannot cut the cane to-day!
Like spring wind on a blasted tree,
A waft of mockery and hate!
Bring back my chains, O cruel Fate!
Bring youth and slavery back to me;
Bring back the lash, the hound, the pain,
So that my own love come again!
Calls me to go, I know not where—
Yes, past the sun and past the star,
Into God’s land. A golden car
And milk-white horses—she is there!
So sweet—I dream—I float away—
I cannot cut the cane to-day!