Bronze (Johnson)/Prejudice

by Georgia Douglas Camp Johnson

PREJUDICE

These fell miasmic rings of mist, with ghoulish menace bound,Like noose-horizons tightening my little world around,They still the soaring will to wing, to dance, to speed away,And fling the soul insurgent back into its shell of clay:

Beneath incrusted silences, a seething Etna lies,The fire of whose furnaces may sleep—but never dies!