_Voice of a Slave_
"We do not talk
Of hours in the rice
When days were long,
Nor of old masters
Who are with us here
Beyond all right or wrong.
Only white afternoons come back,
When in the fields
We reached the Mercy Seat
On wings of song."

_Voice of a Planter_
"Nothing moves there but the night wind,
Blowing the mosses like smoke;
All would be silent as moonlight
But for the owl in the oak--
Stairways that lead up to nothing--
Windows like terrible scars--
Snakes on a log in the cistern
Peering at stars...."

_Spirit of Prophecy_
"Dawn with its childish colors
Stipples the solemn vault of night;
Behind the horizon the sun shakes a bloody fist;
Mysteries stand naked by the lakes of mist;
Spirits take flight,
The medicine man,