Children of the Moon

I am dead; Yet somehow, somewhere, In Time's weird contradiction, I May tell of that dread deed, wherewith I brought to Children of the Moon Freedom and vast salvation. I was a woman born, And trod the streaming street, That ebbs and flows from Harlem's hills, Through caves and cañons limned in light, Down to the twisting sea. That night of nights, I stood alone and at the End, Until the sudden highway to the moon, Golden in splendor, Became too real to doubt. Dimly I set foot upon the air, I fled, I flew, through the thrills of light, With all about, above, below, the whirring Of almighty wings. I found a twilight land, Where, hardly hid, the sun Sent softly-saddened rays of Red and brown to burn the iron soil And bathe the snow-white peaks In mighty splendor. Black were the men, Hard-haired and silent-slow, Moving as shadows, Bending with face of fear to earthward; And women there were none. "Woman, woman, woman!" I cried in mounting terror. "Woman and Child!" And the cry sang back Through heaven, with the Whirring of almighty wings. Wings, wings, endless wings,— Heaven and earth are wings; Wings that flutter, furl, and fold, Always folding and unfolding, Ever folding yet again; Wings, veiling some vast And veiléd face, In blazing blackness, Behind the folding and unfolding, The rolling and unrolling of Almighty wings! I saw the black men huddle, Fumed in fear, falling face downward; Vainly I clutched and clawed, Dumbly they cringed and cowered, Moaning in mournful monotone: O Freedom, O Freedom, O Freedom over me; Before I'll be a slave, I'll be buried in my grave, And go home to my God, And be free. It was angel-music From the dead, And ever, as they sang, Some wingéd thing of wings, filling all heaven, Folding and unfolding, and folding yet again, Tore out their blood and entrails, 'Til I screamed in utter terror; And a silence came— A silence and the wailing of a babe. Then, at last, I saw and shamed; I knew how these dumb, dark, and dusky things Had given blood and life, To fend the caves of underground, The great black caves of utter night, Where earth lay full of mothers And their babes. Little children sobbing in darkness, Little children crying in silent pain, Little mothers rocking and groping and struggling, Digging and delving and groveling, Amid the dying-dead and dead-in-life And drip and dripping of warm, wet blood, Far, far beneath the wings,— The folding and unfolding of almighty wings. I bent with tears and pitying hands, Above these dusky star-eyed children,— Crinkly-haired, with sweet-sad baby voices, Pleading low for light and love and living— And I crooned: "Little children weeping there, God shall find your faces fair; Guerdon for your deep distress, He shall send His tenderness; For the tripping of your feet Make a mystic music sweet In the darkness of your hair; Light and laughter in the air— Little children weeping there, God shall find your faces fair!" I strode above the stricken, bleeding men, The rampart 'ranged against the skies, And shouted: "Up, I say, build and slay; Fight face foremost, force a way, Unloose, unfetter, and unbind; Be men and free!" Dumbly they shrank, Muttering they pointed toward that peak, Than vastness vaster, Whereon a darkness brooded, "Who shall look and live," they sighed; And I sensed The folding and unfolding of almighty wings. Yet did we build of iron, bricks, and blood; We built a day, a year, a thousand years, Blood was the mortar,—blood and tears, And, ah, the Thing, the Thing of wings, The wingéd, folding Wing of Things Did furnish much mad mortar For that tower. Slow and ever slower rose the towering task, And with it rose the sun, Until at last on one wild day, Wind-whirled, cloud-swept and terrible I stood beneath the burning shadow Of the peak, Beneath the whirring of almighty wings, While downward from my feet Streamed the long line of dusky faces And the wail of little children sobbing under earth. Alone, aloft, I saw through firmaments on high The drama of Almighty God, With all its flaming suns and stars. "Freedom!" I cried. "Freedom!" cried heaven, earth, and stars; And a Voice near-far, Amid the folding and unfolding of almighty wings, Answered, "I am Freedom— Who sees my face is free— He and his." I dared not look; Downward I glanced on deep-bowed heads and closed eyes, Outward I gazed on flecked and flaming blue— But ever onward, upward flew The sobbing of small voices,— Down, down, far down into the night. Slowly I lifted livid limbs aloft; Upward I strove: the face! the face! Onward I reeled: the face! the face! To beauty wonderful as sudden death, Or horror horrible as endless life— Up! Up! the blood-built way; (Shadow grow vaster! Terror come faster!) Up! Up! to the blazing blackness Of one veiléd face. And endless folding and unfolding, Rolling and unrolling of almighty wings. The last step stood! The last dim cry of pain Fluttered across the stars, And then— Wings, wings, triumphant wings, Lifting and lowering, waxing and waning, Swinging and swaying, twirling and whirling, Whispering and screaming, streaming and gleaming, Spreading and sweeping and shading and flaming— Wings, wings, eternal wings, 'Til the hot, red blood, Flood fleeing flood, Thundered through heaven and mine ears, While all across a purple sky, The last vast pinion. Trembled to unfold. I rose upon the Mountain of the Moon,— I felt the blazing glory of the Sun; I heard the Song of Children crying, "Free!" I saw the face of Freedom— And I died.

I am dead; Yet somehow, somewhere, In Time's strange contradiction, I May tell of that terrible deed, through which I brought the Children of the Moon Freedom and vast salvation. I was born a woman, And walked the crowded street, That ebbs and flows from Harlem's hills, Through caves and canyons outlined in light, Down to the winding sea. On that night of nights, I stood alone, at the end, Until the sudden road to the moon, Golden in its splendor, Became too real to doubt. Dimly, I stepped out into the air, I fled, I flew, through the thrilling light, With the whirring of almighty wings All around me, above and below. I found a land of twilight, Where the sun, hardly hidden, Sent softly saddened rays Of red and brown to burn the iron soil And bathe the snow-white peaks In mighty splendor. The men were black, With coarse hair, silent and slow, Moving like shadows, Bowing their fearful faces toward the earth; And there were no women. "Woman, woman, woman!" I cried in growing terror. "Woman and Child!" And the cry echoed back Through heaven, with the Whirring of almighty wings. Wings, wings, endless wings, Heaven and earth are wings; Wings that flutter, curl, and fold, Always folding and unfolding, Folding yet again; Wings, hiding some vast And hidden face, In blazing blackness, Behind the folding and unfolding, The rolling and unrolling of Almighty wings! I saw the black men huddle, Choking with fear, falling face down; I clutched and clawed at them in vain, Silently they shrank and cowered, Moaning in a mournful, steady chant: O Freedom, O Freedom, O Freedom over me; Before I'll be a slave, I'll be buried in my grave, And go home to my God, And be free. It was angel music From the dead, And as they sang, Some winged creature, made of wings, filled all heaven, Folding and unfolding, and folding yet again, Tore out their blood and entrails, Until I screamed in utter terror; And silence came, Silence and the wailing of a baby. Then, at last, I saw and felt ashamed; I knew how these silent, dark, and dusky beings Had given blood and life To protect the underground caves, The great black caves of utter night, Where the earth was full of mothers And their babies. Little children sobbing in darkness, Little children crying in silent pain, Little mothers rocking and groping and struggling, Digging and burrowing and crawling, Among the dying dead and the dead in life And the drip and dripping of warm, wet blood, Far, far beneath the wings, The folding and unfolding of almighty wings. I bent with tears and gentle hands, Over these dusky, star-eyed children, With curly hair and sweet, sad baby voices, Softly pleading for light and love and life, And I sang softly: "Little children weeping there, God shall find your faces fair; As a reward for your deep distress, He shall send his tenderness; For your little feet Make sweet, mysterious music In the darkness of your hair; Light and laughter fill the air. Little children weeping there, God shall find your faces fair!" I strode above the wounded, bleeding men, The barrier set against the skies, And shouted: "Get up, I say, build and kill; Fight face forward, force a way, Release yourselves, break your chains, and unbind yourselves; Be men and free!" Silently they shrank back, Muttering, they pointed toward that peak, Greater than vastness itself, Where darkness hung, "Who can look and live?" they sighed; And I sensed The folding and unfolding of almighty wings. Yet we built with iron, bricks, and blood; We built for a day, a year, a thousand years, Blood was the mortar, blood and tears, And, ah, the Thing, the Thing of wings, The winged, folding Wing of Things Provided much of the terrible mortar For that tower. Slowly, ever more slowly, the towering work rose, And with it rose the sun, Until at last, on one wild day, Whipped by wind, swept by clouds, and terrible, I stood beneath the burning shadow Of the peak, Beneath the whirring of almighty wings, While stretching down from my feet Was the long line of dusky faces, And beneath the earth, little children wailed and sobbed. Alone, high above, I saw through the heavens The drama of Almighty God, With all its flaming suns and stars. "Freedom!" I cried. "Freedom!" cried heaven, earth, and stars; And a Voice, both near and far, Amid the folding and unfolding of almighty wings, Answered, "I am Freedom. Whoever sees my face is free, He and his people." I dared not look; I glanced down at deeply bowed heads and closed eyes, I gazed outward at the speckled, flaming blue, But still the sobbing of small voices Rose onward, upward, From down, down, far down in the night. Slowly I raised my pale limbs; I struggled upward: the face! the face! I staggered onward: the face! the face! Toward beauty as wonderful as sudden death, Or horror as horrible as endless life, Up! Up! the path built with blood; (Shadow, grow greater! Terror, come faster!) Up! Up! to the blazing blackness Of one hidden face. And the endless folding and unfolding, Rolling and unrolling of almighty wings. The last step remained! The last faint cry of pain Fluttered across the stars, And then, Wings, wings, triumphant wings, Lifting and lowering, growing and shrinking, Swinging and swaying, twirling and whirling, Whispering and screaming, streaming and gleaming, Spreading and sweeping and shading and flaming, Wings, wings, eternal wings, Until the hot, red blood, Flood after fleeing flood, Thundered through heaven and my ears, While across a purple sky, The last vast wing Trembled, ready to unfold. I rose on the Mountain of the Moon, I felt the blazing glory of the Sun; I heard the Song of Children crying, "Free!" I saw the face of Freedom, And I died.