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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Claude McKay
Claude McKay
Claude McKay was born in Jamaica, West Indies, in 1889. He was...
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FURTHER READING
Poems about America
Abraham Lincoln
by Abraham Lincoln
America
by Herman Melville
America [Try saying wren]
by Joseph Lease
Handshake Histories
by Jeff Hoffman
I am the People, the Mob
by Carl Sandburg
Last Century
by Wyatt Prunty
Passing Through Albuquerque
by John Balaban
Psalm
by Vanessa Place
Politics and Patriotism
Howl, Parts I & II
by Allen Ginsberg
America
by Robert Creeley
America
by James Monroe Whitfield
American History
by Michael S. Harper
American Names
by Stephen Vincent Benét
Bomb Crater Sky
by Lam Thi My Da
Children of Our Era
by Wislawa Szymborska
Dear George Bush
by Kristin Prevallet
December 2, 2002
by Juliana Spahr
Delicate Cluster
by Walt Whitman
Election Year
by Donald Revell
Exquisite Candidate
by Denise Duhamel
Exquisite Politics
by Denise Duhamel
Fellini in Purgatory
by Jean Valentine
Four Preludes on Playthings of the Wind
by Carl Sandburg
How We Did It
by Muriel Rukeyser
I, Too, Sing America
by Langston Hughes
In a Country
by Larry Levis
Let America Be America Again
by Langston Hughes
Our Post-Soviet History Unfolds
by Eleanor Lerman
Patriotics
by David Baker
Praise Song for the Day
by Elizabeth Alexander
Thanksgiving Letter from Harry
by Carl Dennis
To Roosevelt
by Rubén Darío
Poems about Stealing
After
by T. R. Hummer
Against Pleasure
by Robin Becker
Learning to Read
by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Museum Guard
by David Hernandez
Some People
by Wislawa Szymborska
Stealing The Scream
by Monica Youn
The Man Whose Voice Has Been Taken From His Throat
by Naomi Shihab Nye
The Not-Yet Child
by Joshua Weiner
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America  
by Claude McKay

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth!
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate.
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time's unerring hand,
Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand. 



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Published in 1922.
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