The Black Mammy by James Weldon Johnson — Read

O whitened head entwined in turban gay, / O kind black face, O crude, but tender hand, / O foster-mother in whose arms there lay / The race whose sons are masters of the land!

It was thine arms that sheltered in their fold, / It was thine eyes that followed through the length / Of infant days these sons. In times of old / It was thy breast that nourished them to strength.

So often hast thou to thy bosom pressed / The golden head, the face and brow of snow;

So often has it 'gainst thy broad, dark breast / Lain, set off like a quickened cameo.

Thou simple soul, as cuddling down that babe / With thy sweet croon, so plaintive and so wild, / Came ne'er the thought to thee, swift like a stab, / That it some day might crush thine own black child?