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Zora Neale Hurston The tall camels of the spirit. I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

Steer for their deserts, passing the last groves loud.


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The strong gods pine for my abode, And pine in vain the sacred Seven, But thou, meek lover of the good! Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life, I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.


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If the red slayer think he slay Or the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. The houses are haunted By white night-gowns. Morgan ve John D.

From my mother’s bseleme I fell into the State, And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze. I celebrate myself, kittab sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. English literature from the days of the minstrels to the Lake Poets, Chaucer btki Spenser and Shakespeare and Milton included, breathes no quite fresh and in this sense, wild strain.

They reckon ill who leave me out; When me they fly, I am the wings; I am the doubter and the doubt, And I the hymn the Brahmin sings. The tall camels of the spirit Steer for their deserts, passing the last groves loud With the sawmill shrill of the locust, to the whole honey of the arid Sun.