Classic Poem

The sky is open, deep and clear and blue;
No surly temper, rain or wind, betrays
A finger or a whisper, mars the hue,
Or darkens or can break the earth's green praise.
The ether consecrates white festivals
Of calm and lassitude, and weary days
Hobnob in streets and alleys. Leisure calls
On men to give their labor holidays:

Slow arms unloosen selves from slavery,
Reach out and find an unaccustomed friend
In some strange eye with time for bravery
To try the blue and give the black an end.
Dark men who sat with hatred, sit with ease,
Ready to hand their knives to enemies.