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Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

Langston Hughes

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Langston Hughes
Age: 66 †
Born: 1901
Born: February 1
Died: 1967
Died: May 22
Biographer
Essayist
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Joplin
Missouri
James Langston Hughes
James Mercer Langston Hughes
Water
Kiss
Beat
Monsoons
Kissing
Lullaby
Beats
Raindrops
Sing
Rainy
Rain
Drops
Head
Liquid
Upon
Silver

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Everybody should take each other as they are, white, black, Indians, Creole. Then there would be no prejudice, nations would get along.
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Harriet Tubman lived to see the harvest.
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Whiskey just naturally likes me but beer likes me better.
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When a man starts out to build a world, He starts first with himself
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Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed - Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above.
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I look at my own body With eyes no longer blind- And I see that my own hands can make The world that's in my mind.
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I'm so tired of waiting, aren't you, for the world to become good and beautiful and kind?
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I have discovered in life that there are ways of getting almost anywhere you want to go, if you really want to go.
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As long as what is is-and Georgia is Georgia-I will take Harlem for mine. At least, if trouble comes, I will have my own window to shoot from.
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There is no color line in death. I swear to the lord I still can't see Why Democracy means Everybody but me. O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath - America will be! I am the American heartbreak- The rock on which Freedom Stumped its toe.
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I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen when company comes, but I laugh, and eat well, and grow strong.
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Hard as I try, daddy-o, I really do not like concert singers. They are always singing in some foreign language.
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Well, when Christ comes back this time, I hope He comes back mad His own self. I hope He drives the Jim Crowers out of their high places, every living last one of them from Washington to Texas.
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For poems are like rainbows they escape you quickly.
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For my best poems were all written when I felt the worst. When I was happy, I didn't write anything.
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What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? ... Or does it explode?
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Americans of good-will, the nice decent church people, the well-meaning liberals, the good hearted souls who themselves wouldn't lynch anyone, must begin to realize that they have to be more than passively good-hearted, more than church goingly Christian, and much more than word-of-mouth in the liberalism.
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Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear.
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Good evening, daddy! Ain't you heard The boogie-woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? Trilling the treble And twining the bass Into midnight ruffles Of cat-gut lace.
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I got the Weary Blues And I can't be satisfied.
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