And true; the neighbors spoke of himAs that proud nigger, handsome Jim.It was a grudging compliment,Half paid in jest, half fair intent,By those whose partial, jaundiced eyeSaw each of us as one more fly,Or one more bug the summer brings,All shaped alike; antennæ, wings,And noxious all; if caught, to die.But Jim was not just one more fly,For he was handsome in a wayNight is after a long, hot day.If blood flows on from heart to heart,And strong men leave their counterpartIn vice and virtue in their seed,Jim's bearing spoke his imperial breed.I was an offshoot, crude, inclinedMore to the earth; he was the kindWhose every graceful movement said,As blood must say, by turn of head,By twist of wrist, and glance of eye,"Good blood flows here, and it runs high."He had an ease of limb, a raw,Clean, hilly stride that women sawWith quickened throbbings of the breast.There was a show of wings; the nestWas too confined; Jim needed space
80
