Explore "The Passing of the Ex-Slave" by Georgia Douglas Johnson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Swift melting into yesterday, / The tortured hordes of ebon-clay; / No more is heard the plaintive strain, / The rhythmic chaunting of their pain.
Their mounded bodies dimly rise / To fill the gulf of sacrifice, / And o'er their silent hearts below / The mantled millions softly go.
Some few remaining still abide, / Gnarled sentinels of time and tide, / Now mellowed by a chastened glow / Which lighter hearts will never know.
Winding into the silent way, / Spent with the travail of the day, / So royal in their humble might / These uncrowned Pilgrims of the Night!