Still we hear it -- Clear, immortal, undying, -- The old sweet chant Of those that worship the sun! Pallid, perverse, diseased, The mystical rabble Gibber and twitter and weep. With a waving of leprous arms, With a beating of epicene breasts, They mutter their prayers to the night, And the moon, their odalisque. But still we hear it -- Clear, immortal, undying, -- The old sweet chant Of those that worship the sun! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SORROW SINGERS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON GHOSTS OF THE OLD YEAR by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE YOUNG WARRIOR by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON ITALIAN PICTURES: THE COSTA SAN GIORGIO by MINA LOY CHILD OF MY HEART by EDWIN MARKHAM MEMOIR OF A PROUD BOY by CARL SANDBURG |