Caroling Dusk/Four Epitaphs

by Countee Cullen

FOUR EPITAPHS

1

For My Grandmother

This lovely flower fell to seed;Work gently sun and rain;She held it as her dying creedThat she would grow again.

2

For John Keats, Apostle of Beauty

Not writ in water nor in mist,Sweet lyric throat, thy name.Thy singing lips that cold death kissedHave seared his own with flame.

3

For Paul Laurence Dunbar

Born of the sorrowful of heartMirth was a crown upon his head; Pride kept his twisted lips apartIn jest, to hide a heart that bled.

4

For a Lady I Know

She even thinks that up in heaven Her class lies late and snores,While poor black cherubs rise at seven To do celestial chores.