M. Alexander
Anne Bradstreet &
Anne Bradstreet
Anne Bradstreet
Edward Taylor
Edward Taylor
Edward Taylor
Mary Rowlandson
Mary Rowlandson
Mary Rowlandson
Christopher Columbus
Christopher Columbus
Jonathan Edwards (Theologian)
Olaudah Equiano
Olaudah Equiano
Phillis Wheatley
Phillis Wheatley
Phillis Wheatley
Phillis Wheatley
Phillis Wheatley
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Henry David Thoreau
Henry David Thoreau
Henry David Thoreau
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Walt Whitman
Walt Whitman
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Robert Frost
Robert Frost
Robert Frost
Robert Frost
Robert Frost
William Carlos Williams
William Carlos Williams
William Carlos Williams
William Carlos Williams
William Carlos Williams
William Carlos Williams
William Carlos Williams
Wallace Stevens
Ezra Pound
Ezra Pound
Ezra Pound & Li Po
H. D. (Hilda Doolittle)
e. e. cummings
e. e. cummings
e. e. cummings
Claude McKay
Claude McKay
Claude McKay
Claude McKay
Claude McKay
Claude McKay
Claude McKay
Zora Neale Hurston
Langston Hughes
Langston Hughes
Langston Hughes
Langston Hughes
Langston Hughes
Langston Hughes
Langston Hughes
Langston Hughes
Langston Hughes
Countee Cullen
Countee Cullen
Maxine Hong Kingston
Alice Walker
Allen Ginsberg
Allen Ginsberg
Cullen’s sonnet marvels at a God who so often makes people suffer. He links his modern struggle as a black poet in the early 20th century with the struggles of some of the most unfortunate characters in Greek classical myths.
Biographer Charles Molesworth borrowed the final phrase for the title of...
I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind,
And did He stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind,
Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,
Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus
Is baited by the fickle fruit, declare
If merely brute caprice dooms Sisyphus
To struggle up a never-ending stair.
Inscrutable His ways are, and immune
To catechism by a mind too strewn
With petty cares to slightly understand
What awful brain compels His awful hand.
Yet do I marvel at this curious thing:
To make a poet black, and bid him sing!