Explore "Prejudice" by Georgia Douglas Johnson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
These fell miasmic rings of mist, with ghoulish menace bound, / Like noose-horizons tightening my little world around, / They still the soaring will to wing, to dance, to speed away, / And fling the soul insurgent back into its shell of clay: / Beneath incrusted silences, a seething Etna lies, / The fire of whose furnaces may sleep -- but never dies!