O singers, resinous and soft your songsAbove the sacred whisper of the pines,Give virgin lips to cornfield concubines,Bring dreams of Christ to dusky cane-lipped throngs. — Jean Toomer Copy Share Image
“Happy, Muriel? No, not happy. Your aim is wrong. There is no such thing as happiness. Life bends joy and pain, beauty and ugliness,… — Jean Toomer Copy Share Image
We never know we are beings till we love. And then it is we know the powers and potentialities of human existence. — Jean Toomer Copy Share Image
Dripping rain like golden honey- And the sweet earth flying from the thunder — Jean Toomer Copy Share Image
“Dusk, suggesting the almost imperceptible posession of giant trees, settled with a purple haze about the cane. I felt strange, as I always do… — Jean Toomer Copy Share Image
“Her Lips Are Copper Wire” whisper of yellow globes gleaming on lamp posts that sway like bootleg licker drinkers in the fog and let… — Jean Toomer Copy Share Image
It takes a well-spent lifetime, and perhaps more, to crystalize in us that for which we exist. — Jean Toomer Copy Share Image
Thunder blossoms gorgeously above our heads, Great, hollow, bell-like flowers — Jean Toomer Copy Share Image
