James Weldon Johnson, ed. (1871–1938). The Book of American Negro Poetry. 1922.

Before the Feast of Shushan

GARDEN of Shushan!

After Eden, all terrace, pool, and flower recollect thee:

Ye weavers in saffron and haze and Tyrian purple,

Tell yet what range in color wakes the eye;

Sorcerer, release the dreams born here when

Drowsy, shifting palm-shade enspells the brain;

And sound! ye with harp and flute ne’er essay

Before these star-noted birds escaped from paradise awhile to

Stir all dark, and dear, and passionate desire, till mine

Arms go out to be mocked by the softly kissing body of the wind—

Slave, send Vashti to her King!

The fiery wattles of the sun startle into flame

The marbled towers of Shushan:

So at each day’s wane, two peers—the one in

Heaven, the other on earth—welcome with their

Splendor the peerless beauty of the Queen.

Cushioned at the Queen’s feet and upon her knee

Finding glory for mine head,—still, nearly shamed

Am I, the King, to bend and kiss with sharp

Breath the olive-pink of sandaled toes between;

Or lift me high to the magnet of a gaze, dusky,

Like the pool when but the moon-ray strikes to its depth;

Or closer press to crush a grape ’gainst lips redder

Than the grape, a rose in the night of her hair;

Then—Sharon’s Rose in my arms.

And I am hard to force the petals wide;

And you are fast to suffer and be sad.

Is any prophet come to teach a new thing

Now in a more apt time?

Have him ’maze how you say love is sacrament;

How says Vashti, love is both bread and wine;

How to the altar may not come to break and drink,

Hulky flesh nor fleshly spirit!

I, thy lord, like not manna for meat as a Judahn;

I, thy master, drink, and red wine, plenty, and when

I thirst. Eat meat, and full, when I hunger.

I, thy King, teach you and leave you, when I list.

No woman in all Persia sets out strange action

To confuse Persia’s lord—

Love is but desire and thy purpose fulfillment;

I, thy King, so say!