| My mother bore me in the southern wild
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| And I am black, but O! |
| my soul is white!
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| White as an angel is the English child
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| But I am black, as if bereaved of light
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| My mother taught me underneath a tree
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| And, sitting down before the heat of day
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| She took me on her lap and kissèd me
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| And, pointing to the East, began to say:
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| «Look 2 the rising sun: there God does live
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| And gives His light, and gives His heat away
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| And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
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| Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday
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| «And we are put on earth a little space
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| That we may learn to bear the beams of love;
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| And these black bodies and this sunburnt face
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| 1 but a cloud, and like a shady grove
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| «For when our souls have learn’d the heat to bear
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| The cloud will vanish; |
| we shall hear His voice
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| Saying: `Come out from the grove, my love and care
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| And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.' |
| "
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| Thus did my mother say, and kissèd me;
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| And thus I say to little English boy:
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| When I from black and he from white cloud free
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| And round the tent of God like lambs we joy
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| I’ll shade him from the heat till he can bear
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| To lean in joy upon our Father’s knee;
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| And then I’ll stand and stroke his silver hair
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| And be like him, and he will then love me |