{"id":47,"date":"2021-06-02T15:52:19","date_gmt":"2021-06-02T19:52:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.ryerson.ca\/poetryandpoetics\/?post_type=chapter&p=47"},"modified":"2022-02-15T12:47:29","modified_gmt":"2022-02-15T17:47:29","slug":"langston-hughes","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics\/chapter\/langston-hughes\/","title":{"raw":"Langston Hughes","rendered":"Langston Hughes"},"content":{"raw":"

The Negro Speaks of Rivers<\/h1>\r\nI\u2019ve known rivers:\r\nI\u2019ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.\r\n\r\nMy soul has grown deep like the rivers.\r\n\r\nI bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.\r\nI built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.\r\nI looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.\r\nI heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I\u2019ve seen\r\nits muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.\r\n\r\nI\u2019ve known rivers:\r\nAncient, dusky rivers.\r\n\r\nMy soul has grown deep like the rivers.\r\n

Mother to Son<\/h1>\r\nWell, son, I\u2019ll tell you:\r\nLife for me ain\u2019t been no crystal stair.\r\nIt\u2019s had tacks in it,\r\nAnd splinters,\r\nAnd boards torn up,\r\nAnd places with no carpet on the floor\u2014\r\nBare.\r\nBut all the time\r\nI\u2019se been a-climbin\u2019 on,\r\nAnd reachin\u2019 landin\u2019s,\r\nAnd turnin\u2019 corners,\r\nAnd sometimes goin\u2019 in the dark\r\nWhere there ain\u2019t been no light.\r\nSo boy, don\u2019t you turn back.\r\nDon\u2019t you set down on the steps\r\n\u2019Cause you finds it\u2019s kinder hard.\r\nDon\u2019t you fall now\u2014\r\nFor I\u2019se still goin\u2019, honey,\r\nI\u2019se still climbin\u2019,\r\nAnd life for me ain\u2019t been no crystal stair.\r\n

Dreams<\/h1>\r\nHold fast to dreams\r\nFor if dreams die\r\nLife is a broken-winged bird\r\nThat cannot fly.\r\n\r\nHold fast to dreams\r\nFor when dreams go\r\nLife is a barren field\r\nFrozen with snow.\r\n

The Weary Blues<\/h1>\r\nDroning a drowsy syncopated tune,\r\nRocking back and forth to a mellow croon,\r\nI heard a Negro play.\r\nDown on Lenox Avenue the other night\r\nBy the pale dull pallor of an old gas light\r\nHe did a lazy sway . . .\r\nHe did a lazy sway . . .\r\nTo the tune o' those Weary Blues.\r\nWith his ebony hands on each ivory key\r\nHe made that poor piano moan with melody.\r\nO Blues!\r\nSwaying to and fro on his rickety stool\r\nHe played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.\r\nSweet Blues!\r\nComing from a black man's soul.\r\nO Blues!\r\nIn a deep song voice with a melancholy tone\r\nI heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan\u2014\r\n\"Ain't got nobody in all this world,\r\nAin't got nobody but ma self.\r\nI's gwine to quit ma frownin'\r\nAnd put ma troubles on the shelf.\"\r\n\r\nThump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.\r\nHe played a few chords then he sang some more\u2014\r\n\"I got the Weary Blues\r\nAnd I can't be satisfied.\r\nGot the Weary Blues\r\nAnd can't be satisfied\u2014\r\nI ain't happy no mo'\r\nAnd I wish\u00a0that I had died.\"\r\nAnd far into the night he crooned that tune.\r\nThe stars went out and so did the moon.\r\nThe singer stopped playing and went to bed\r\nWhile the Weary Blues echoed through his head.\r\nHe slept like a rock or a man that's dead.\r\n

Po\u2019 Boy Blues<\/h1>\r\nWhen I was home de\r\nSunshine seemed like gold.\r\nWhen I was home de\r\nSunshine seemed like gold.\r\nSince I come up North de\r\nWhole damn world's turned cold.\r\n\r\nI was a good boy,\r\nNever done no wrong.\r\nYes, I was a good boy,\r\nNever done no wrong,\r\nBut this world is weary\r\nAn' de road is hard an' long.\r\n\r\nI fell in love with\r\nA gal I thought was kind.\r\nFell in love with\r\nA gal I thought was kind.\r\nShe made me lose ma money\r\nAn' almost lose ma mind.\r\n\r\nWeary, weary,\r\nWeary early in de morn.\r\nWeary, weary,\r\nEarly, early in de morn.\r\nI's so weary\r\nI wish I'd never been born.\r\n

Let America Be America Again<\/h1>\r\nLet America be America again.\r\nLet it be the dream it used to be.\r\nLet it be the pioneer on the plain\r\nSeeking a home where he himself is free.\r\n\r\n(America never was America to me.)\r\n\r\nLet America be the dream the dreamers dreamed\u2014\r\nLet it be that great strong land of love\r\nWhere never kings connive nor tyrants scheme\r\nThat any man be crushed by one above.\r\n\r\n(It never was America to me.)\r\n\r\nO, let my land be a land where Liberty\r\nIs crowned with no false patriotic wreath,\r\nBut opportunity is real, and life is free,\r\nEquality is in the air we breathe.\r\n\r\n(There\u2019s never been equality for me,\r\nNor freedom in this \u201chomeland of the free.\u201d)\r\n\r\nSay, who are you that mumbles in the dark?\r\nAnd who are you that draws your veil across the stars?\r\n\r\nI am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,\r\nI am the Negro bearing slavery\u2019s scars.\r\nI am the red man driven from the land,\r\nI am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek\u2014\r\nAnd finding only the same old stupid plan\r\nOf dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.\r\n\r\nI am the young man, full of strength and hope,\r\nTangled in that ancient endless chain\r\nOf profit, power, gain, of grab the land!\r\nOf grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!\r\nOf work the men! Of take the pay!\r\nOf owning everything for one\u2019s own greed!\r\n\r\nI am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.\r\nI am the worker sold to the machine.\r\nI am the Negro, servant to you all.\r\nI am the people, humble, hungry, mean\u2014\r\nHungry yet today despite the dream.\r\nBeaten yet today\u2014O, Pioneers!\r\nI am the man who never got ahead,\r\nThe poorest worker bartered through the years.\r\n\r\nYet I\u2019m the one who dreamt our basic dream\r\nIn the Old World while still a serf of kings,\r\nWho dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,\r\nThat even yet its mighty daring sings\r\nIn every brick and stone, in every furrow turned\r\nThat\u2019s made America the land it has become.\r\nO, I\u2019m the man who sailed those early seas\r\nIn search of what I meant to be my home\u2014\r\nFor I\u2019m the one who left dark Ireland\u2019s shore,\r\nAnd Poland\u2019s plain, and England\u2019s grassy lea,\r\nAnd torn from Black Africa\u2019s strand I came\r\nTo build a \u201chomeland of the free.\u201d\r\n\r\nThe free?\r\n\r\nWho said the free? Not me?\r\nSurely not me? The millions on relief today?\r\nThe millions shot down when we strike?\r\nThe millions who have nothing for our pay?\r\nFor all the dreams we\u2019ve dreamed\r\nAnd all the songs we\u2019ve sung\r\nAnd all the hopes we\u2019ve held\r\nAnd all the flags we\u2019ve hung,\r\nThe millions who have nothing for our pay\u2014\r\nExcept the dream that\u2019s almost dead today.\r\n\r\nO, let America be America again\u2014\r\nThe land that never has been yet\u2014\r\nAnd yet must be\u2014the land where\u00a0every\u00a0man is free.\r\nThe land that\u2019s mine\u2014the poor man\u2019s, Indian\u2019s, Negro\u2019s, ME\u2014\r\nWho made America,\r\nWhose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,\r\nWhose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,\r\nMust bring back our mighty dream again.\r\n\r\nSure, call me any ugly name you choose\u2014\r\nThe steel of freedom does not stain.\r\nFrom those who live like leeches on the people\u2019s lives,\r\nWe must take back our land again,\r\nAmerica!\r\n\r\nO, yes,\r\nI say it plain,\r\nAmerica never was America to me,\r\nAnd yet I swear this oath\u2014\r\nAmerica will be!\r\n\r\nOut of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,\r\nThe rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,\r\nWe, the people, must redeem\r\nThe land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.\r\nThe mountains and the endless plain\u2014\r\nAll, all the stretch of these great green states\u2014\r\nAnd make America again!\r\n

Life is Fine<\/h1>\r\nI went down to the river,\r\nI set down on the bank.\r\nI tried to think but couldn't,\r\nSo I jumped in and sank.\r\n\r\nI came up once and hollered!\r\nI came up twice and cried!\r\nIf that water hadn't a-been so cold\r\nI might've sunk and died.\r\n\r\nBut it was\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Cold in that water!\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It was cold!\r\n\r\nI took the elevator\r\nSixteen floors above the ground.\r\nI thought about my baby\r\nAnd thought I would jump down.\r\n\r\nI stood there and I hollered!\r\nI stood there and I cried!\r\nIf it hadn't a-been so high\r\nI might've jumped and died.\r\n\r\nBut it was\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0High up there!\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It was high!\r\n\r\nSo since I'm still here livin',\r\nI guess I will live on.\r\nI could've died for love\u2014\r\nBut for livin' I was born\r\n\r\nThough you may hear me holler,\r\nAnd you may see me cry\u2014\r\nI'll be dogged, sweet baby,\r\nIf you gonna see me die.\r\n\r\nLife is fine!\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fine as wine!\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Life is fine!\r\n

I, Too, Sing America<\/h1>\r\nI, too, sing America.\r\n\r\nI am the darker brother.\r\nThey send me to eat in the kitchen\r\nWhen company comes,\r\nBut I laugh,\r\nAnd eat well,\r\nAnd grow strong.\r\n\r\nTomorrow,\r\nI\u2019ll be at the table\r\nWhen company comes.\r\nNobody\u2019ll dare\r\nSay to me,\r\n\u201cEat in the kitchen,\u201d\r\nThen.\r\n\r\nBesides,\r\nThey\u2019ll see how beautiful I am\r\nAnd be ashamed\u2014\r\n\r\nI, too, am America.\r\n

Harlem<\/h1>\r\nWhat happens to a dream deferred?\r\n\r\nDoes it dry up\r\nlike a raisin in the sun?\r\nOr fester like a sore\u2014\r\nAnd then run?\r\nDoes it stink like rotten meat?\r\nOr crust and sugar over\u2014\r\nlike a syrupy sweet?\r\n\r\nMaybe it just sags\r\nlike a heavy load.\r\n\r\nOr does it explode?\r\n\r\n
\r\n\r\n

Sources<\/h2>\r\n\u201cThe Negro Speaks of Rivers\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.\r\n\r\n\u201cMother to Son\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.\r\n\r\n\u201cDreams\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.\r\n\r\n\u201cThe Weary Blues\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.\r\n\r\n\u201cPo\u2019 Boy Blues\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.\r\n\r\n\u201cLet America Be America Again\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.\r\n\r\n\u201cLife is Fine\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poets.org<\/a>.\r\n\r\n\u201cI, Too, Sing America\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.\r\n\r\n\u201cHarlem\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.\r\n\r\n ","rendered":"

The Negro Speaks of Rivers<\/h1>\n

I\u2019ve known rivers:
\nI\u2019ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.<\/p>\n

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.<\/p>\n

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
\nI built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
\nI looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
\nI heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I\u2019ve seen
\nits muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve known rivers:
\nAncient, dusky rivers.<\/p>\n

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.<\/p>\n

Mother to Son<\/h1>\n

Well, son, I\u2019ll tell you:
\nLife for me ain\u2019t been no crystal stair.
\nIt\u2019s had tacks in it,
\nAnd splinters,
\nAnd boards torn up,
\nAnd places with no carpet on the floor\u2014
\nBare.
\nBut all the time
\nI\u2019se been a-climbin\u2019 on,
\nAnd reachin\u2019 landin\u2019s,
\nAnd turnin\u2019 corners,
\nAnd sometimes goin\u2019 in the dark
\nWhere there ain\u2019t been no light.
\nSo boy, don\u2019t you turn back.
\nDon\u2019t you set down on the steps
\n\u2019Cause you finds it\u2019s kinder hard.
\nDon\u2019t you fall now\u2014
\nFor I\u2019se still goin\u2019, honey,
\nI\u2019se still climbin\u2019,
\nAnd life for me ain\u2019t been no crystal stair.<\/p>\n

Dreams<\/h1>\n

Hold fast to dreams
\nFor if dreams die
\nLife is a broken-winged bird
\nThat cannot fly.<\/p>\n

Hold fast to dreams
\nFor when dreams go
\nLife is a barren field
\nFrozen with snow.<\/p>\n

The Weary Blues<\/h1>\n

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
\nRocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
\nI heard a Negro play.
\nDown on Lenox Avenue the other night
\nBy the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
\nHe did a lazy sway . . .
\nHe did a lazy sway . . .
\nTo the tune o’ those Weary Blues.
\nWith his ebony hands on each ivory key
\nHe made that poor piano moan with melody.
\nO Blues!
\nSwaying to and fro on his rickety stool
\nHe played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
\nSweet Blues!
\nComing from a black man’s soul.
\nO Blues!
\nIn a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
\nI heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan\u2014
\n“Ain’t got nobody in all this world,
\nAin’t got nobody but ma self.
\nI’s gwine to quit ma frownin’
\nAnd put ma troubles on the shelf.”<\/p>\n

Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
\nHe played a few chords then he sang some more\u2014
\n“I got the Weary Blues
\nAnd I can’t be satisfied.
\nGot the Weary Blues
\nAnd can’t be satisfied\u2014
\nI ain’t happy no mo’
\nAnd I wish\u00a0that I had died.”
\nAnd far into the night he crooned that tune.
\nThe stars went out and so did the moon.
\nThe singer stopped playing and went to bed
\nWhile the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
\nHe slept like a rock or a man that’s dead.<\/p>\n

Po\u2019 Boy Blues<\/h1>\n

When I was home de
\nSunshine seemed like gold.
\nWhen I was home de
\nSunshine seemed like gold.
\nSince I come up North de
\nWhole damn world’s turned cold.<\/p>\n

I was a good boy,
\nNever done no wrong.
\nYes, I was a good boy,
\nNever done no wrong,
\nBut this world is weary
\nAn’ de road is hard an’ long.<\/p>\n

I fell in love with
\nA gal I thought was kind.
\nFell in love with
\nA gal I thought was kind.
\nShe made me lose ma money
\nAn’ almost lose ma mind.<\/p>\n

Weary, weary,
\nWeary early in de morn.
\nWeary, weary,
\nEarly, early in de morn.
\nI’s so weary
\nI wish I’d never been born.<\/p>\n

Let America Be America Again<\/h1>\n

Let America be America again.
\nLet it be the dream it used to be.
\nLet it be the pioneer on the plain
\nSeeking a home where he himself is free.<\/p>\n

(America never was America to me.)<\/p>\n

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed\u2014
\nLet it be that great strong land of love
\nWhere never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
\nThat any man be crushed by one above.<\/p>\n

(It never was America to me.)<\/p>\n

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
\nIs crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
\nBut opportunity is real, and life is free,
\nEquality is in the air we breathe.<\/p>\n

(There\u2019s never been equality for me,
\nNor freedom in this \u201chomeland of the free.\u201d)<\/p>\n

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
\nAnd who are you that draws your veil across the stars?<\/p>\n

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
\nI am the Negro bearing slavery\u2019s scars.
\nI am the red man driven from the land,
\nI am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek\u2014
\nAnd finding only the same old stupid plan
\nOf dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.<\/p>\n

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
\nTangled in that ancient endless chain
\nOf profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
\nOf grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
\nOf work the men! Of take the pay!
\nOf owning everything for one\u2019s own greed!<\/p>\n

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
\nI am the worker sold to the machine.
\nI am the Negro, servant to you all.
\nI am the people, humble, hungry, mean\u2014
\nHungry yet today despite the dream.
\nBeaten yet today\u2014O, Pioneers!
\nI am the man who never got ahead,
\nThe poorest worker bartered through the years.<\/p>\n

Yet I\u2019m the one who dreamt our basic dream
\nIn the Old World while still a serf of kings,
\nWho dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
\nThat even yet its mighty daring sings
\nIn every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
\nThat\u2019s made America the land it has become.
\nO, I\u2019m the man who sailed those early seas
\nIn search of what I meant to be my home\u2014
\nFor I\u2019m the one who left dark Ireland\u2019s shore,
\nAnd Poland\u2019s plain, and England\u2019s grassy lea,
\nAnd torn from Black Africa\u2019s strand I came
\nTo build a \u201chomeland of the free.\u201d<\/p>\n

The free?<\/p>\n

Who said the free? Not me?
\nSurely not me? The millions on relief today?
\nThe millions shot down when we strike?
\nThe millions who have nothing for our pay?
\nFor all the dreams we\u2019ve dreamed
\nAnd all the songs we\u2019ve sung
\nAnd all the hopes we\u2019ve held
\nAnd all the flags we\u2019ve hung,
\nThe millions who have nothing for our pay\u2014
\nExcept the dream that\u2019s almost dead today.<\/p>\n

O, let America be America again\u2014
\nThe land that never has been yet\u2014
\nAnd yet must be\u2014the land where\u00a0every\u00a0man is free.
\nThe land that\u2019s mine\u2014the poor man\u2019s, Indian\u2019s, Negro\u2019s, ME\u2014
\nWho made America,
\nWhose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
\nWhose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
\nMust bring back our mighty dream again.<\/p>\n

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose\u2014
\nThe steel of freedom does not stain.
\nFrom those who live like leeches on the people\u2019s lives,
\nWe must take back our land again,
\nAmerica!<\/p>\n

O, yes,
\nI say it plain,
\nAmerica never was America to me,
\nAnd yet I swear this oath\u2014
\nAmerica will be!<\/p>\n

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
\nThe rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
\nWe, the people, must redeem
\nThe land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
\nThe mountains and the endless plain\u2014
\nAll, all the stretch of these great green states\u2014
\nAnd make America again!<\/p>\n

Life is Fine<\/h1>\n

I went down to the river,
\nI set down on the bank.
\nI tried to think but couldn’t,
\nSo I jumped in and sank.<\/p>\n

I came up once and hollered!
\nI came up twice and cried!
\nIf that water hadn’t a-been so cold
\nI might’ve sunk and died.<\/p>\n

But it was\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Cold in that water!\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It was cold!<\/p>\n

I took the elevator
\nSixteen floors above the ground.
\nI thought about my baby
\nAnd thought I would jump down.<\/p>\n

I stood there and I hollered!
\nI stood there and I cried!
\nIf it hadn’t a-been so high
\nI might’ve jumped and died.<\/p>\n

But it was\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0High up there!\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It was high!<\/p>\n

So since I’m still here livin’,
\nI guess I will live on.
\nI could’ve died for love\u2014
\nBut for livin’ I was born<\/p>\n

Though you may hear me holler,
\nAnd you may see me cry\u2014
\nI’ll be dogged, sweet baby,
\nIf you gonna see me die.<\/p>\n

Life is fine!\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fine as wine!\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Life is fine!<\/p>\n

I, Too, Sing America<\/h1>\n

I, too, sing America.<\/p>\n

I am the darker brother.
\nThey send me to eat in the kitchen
\nWhen company comes,
\nBut I laugh,
\nAnd eat well,
\nAnd grow strong.<\/p>\n

Tomorrow,
\nI\u2019ll be at the table
\nWhen company comes.
\nNobody\u2019ll dare
\nSay to me,
\n\u201cEat in the kitchen,\u201d
\nThen.<\/p>\n

Besides,
\nThey\u2019ll see how beautiful I am
\nAnd be ashamed\u2014<\/p>\n

I, too, am America.<\/p>\n

Harlem<\/h1>\n

What happens to a dream deferred?<\/p>\n

Does it dry up
\nlike a raisin in the sun?
\nOr fester like a sore\u2014
\nAnd then run?
\nDoes it stink like rotten meat?
\nOr crust and sugar over\u2014
\nlike a syrupy sweet?<\/p>\n

Maybe it just sags
\nlike a heavy load.<\/p>\n

Or does it explode?<\/p>\n

\n

Sources<\/h2>\n

\u201cThe Negro Speaks of Rivers\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\u201cMother to Son\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\u201cDreams\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Weary Blues\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\u201cPo\u2019 Boy Blues\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet America Be America Again\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\u201cLife is Fine\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poets.org<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\u201cI, Too, Sing America\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\u201cHarlem\u201d by Langston Hughes is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.<\/p>\n

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