A Voice from the South / By a Black Woman of the South

by Anna J. Cooper

I who have stood on Freedom’s wildest hights?

My Africa,

I see the day

When none dare touch thy garment’s lowest hem.

You cannot make me love you with your whine

Of fine repentance. Veil your pallid face

In presence of the shame that mantles mine;

Stand

At command

Of the black prophet of the Negro race!