Explore "My Son" by Georgia Douglas Johnson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Stronger than man-made bars, the chain, / That rounds your life's arena, / Deeper than hell the anchor sweeps / That stills your young desires; / Darker than night the inward look / That meditation offers, / Redder than blood the future years / Roll down the hills of torture!
But ah! you were not made for this, / And life is but preluding --
The major theme shall hold its sway / When full awake, not dreaming, / Your ebon foot shall press the sod / Where immortelles are blooming; / Beyond the glaze of fevered years / I see -- the day is coming!