Harlem by Langston Hughes What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run? Does it stink like rotten
The Teams by Henry Lawson A cloud of dust on the long, white road, And the teams go creeping on Inch by inch with the weary load; And by the power of the green-hide
The Cockney Soul by Henry Lawson From Woolwich and Brentford and Stamford Hill, from Richmond into the Strand, Oh, the Cockney soul is a silent soul, as it is in every land! But out